


The Tribe of the Dragon

by orphan_account



Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: After Camlann Merlin Big Bang, Alternate Universe - Historical, Amputation, Angst, Animal Sacrifice, Blood, Canon-Typical Violence, Celtic Mythology & Folklore, F/M, Gore, Hurt/Comfort, Lots and lots of whump, M/M, Minor Character Death, Slavery, Whump
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-08-30
Updated: 2015-08-30
Packaged: 2018-04-18 04:23:45
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 8
Words: 32,354
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4691966
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Arthur is the son of Celtic warlord Uther Penndraig, whose tribe has been at war with the druids for years. Trying to prove himself worthy to be the next chieftain, Arthur sets out to recover the stolen relic Excalibur. At his side is Merlin, a prisoner of war turned slave. However, as Arthur journeys, he learns there is more to Merlin that meets the eye, and that there is a threat far greater than the druids looming on the horizon.<br/>Disclaimer: I do not own Merlin or its characters, they are owned by BBC and Shine.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Extended Author's Notes

**Author's Note:**

> Wow, for my first time participating in a Big Bang, this went awesomely. Many, many thanks to my beta Sam, who took this tangle of a plot and shook it into something recognizable. Second, amoredition has created some absolutely stunning work, so please go and give her all the love and credit she 100% deserves. Another thank-you goes to the mods for running and organizing this bang, which is a monumental task indeed. Shout out to the chatzy crew for putting up with my dithering and getting me to actually sit down and write. And last but not least, thank _you_ for reading.

Feel free to skip over this chapter if you want, it's mostly a little background on the content.

This work takes place in about 400 BC Wales, before the Roman invasion of England. This was the height of Celtic power, and as such there lots of different tribes running around. Below is a map of England with the approximate locations of multiple tribes.

One of my goals in writing was to make this fic as historically accurate as possible. As a result, there is a lot of history stuff, so be prepared to learn. In order to preserve as much authenticity as I could, some of the names have been altered to more Welsh-sounding counterparts. For the most part, I tried to pick similar-sounding names, but a few got really off, so here they are:

Llew=Leon

Llywarch=Lancelot

Ffraid=Freya

Additionally, Arthur's last name Pendragon translates to Welsh(ish) as "Chief Dragon" or "Head Dragon". I've taken it and made it the title of the Chieftain of the Dragon People, called "Penndraig".

Also included in this fic are three languages more or less spoken at the time. Arthur and Gwen speak a variant on [Common Brittonic](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Common_Brittonic), which is ancestral to modern Welsh. Merlin speaks[ Cumbraek](http://www.cumbraek.co.uk/), a sister language to Brittonic. Cenred speaks [Gaulish](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Gaulish_language), as was spoken by many continental tribes. I've done my best to reconstruct these languages based on what we know, but if you know Welsh, you're probably going to cry at my butchering of them.  


Dialogue translations that are non-essential to the fic, along with notes on historical happenings, will be included at the end of every chapter.  


I am very very bad at formatting because AO3 doesn't like me, please forgive me if there are any mistakes.

Since you're probably all screaming at me to get on with it, without further ado, go on to the next chapter!  



	2. In Which There is Lots of Expositional Dialogue

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Arthur gets a mission, a slave, and his sister's hatred.

 

Arthur grimaced as a sword bounced off his shield, sending shocks down his arm. Rolling his shoulders, he raised the oblong wooden device above his head and crouched low to the ground, lashing out a foot. With a thud, his opponent fell to the ground, letting out a whoosh of breath as the wind was knocked out of him. Quickly, Arthur loomed over him, iron sword pointed at his throat. After a tense moment, the man beneath him relaxed and smiled.

 "Well done!” said Gawain, extending a hand so that Arthur could help him up. “It's about time you got that right!” Arthur grinned, sheathing his sword.

 “That was rather good, wasn’t it?” He replied proudly, pulling Gawain to his feet. The taller man slapped him on the back, jingling the metal rings sewn onto his tunic.

 “Not bad for someone as short as you,” Gawain remarked, ruffling Arthur’s hair. “But you’ll have to work on your archery.”

 Arthur rolled his eyes, placing his shield on the nearby rack and stretching. Gawain was the most garrulous man he’d ever met, and one day if he wasn’t careful, somebody would take serious offence at his chatter. So far, Gawain had faced only fines, as the law dictated, but insulting the wrong person could lose him his tongue. Tensions had been running high recently after news from the south, and the people of the Dragon Tribe were on edge.

 Speaking of the law, Arthur saw Gaius, a member of the chieftain's council and resident healer, striding towards him. _He moves surprisingly fast for a man so old_ , Arthur thought privately. Gaius approached the young man, face impassive.

 “Your father wishes to see you,” he said, his voice betraying nothing. Despite this, Arthur’s stomach plummeted. What could Uther have in store for him? Only the other day he had been severely scolded for leading a hunting party to the north.

 “The Brigantes are ever on the lookout for new slaves,” Uther had said sternly. “If they knew you were my son, they would only return you at great cost to our tribe.” Arthur had sullenly agreed, staring at his feet. It wasn’t his fault that the woods were better hunting ground to the north, and it certainly wasn’t his fault that he was the chieftain’s son. As _pendeuic_ , or prince, he had a seat on the chieftain's council, not that he much cared. Most times, he simply ignored the responsibilities he had as a council member, preferring to hunt or train with the other warriors. The only exception to this rule was when there was battle involved. Whenever Uther called the council together to discuss an attack against another tribe, Arthur was always the first to arrive. During the battle itself, he would always lead the infantry charge, face streaked blue with dye made from the woad plant. Being on the battlefield was the only time when he felt truly alive.

 As he walked towards the fortified walls of his father’s fortress, Arthur idly gazed around him. Camelot was not as large as some of the other Ordovices settlements, but its people were both proud and tough. Every day, the people of the Dragon Tribe tended the land, coaxing grain from the soil and herding sheep. Not that Arthur knew too much about the lives of farmers; he’d been trained to be a warrior from birth. What he did know was that the people were restless.

 The Belgae had taken everybody by surprise when they first attacked to the south. No-one had thought that the rabble of barbarians could muster enough force to fight even the lowliest of tribes, yet they had carved their way through the Dobunni and were steadily headed north. However, the northern tribes refused to aid Camelot in preparation for war, having reached an truce peace a mere month ago.

 Arthur’s father had been at war with the Brigantes for eighteen years, hostilities erupting a month after his son was born. Uther’s wife Ygrain had died giving birth to Arthur, unable to be saved by the druids and midwives that had aided her in labour. Driven mad by grief, Uther had banned all but one druid from Camelot, and restricted worship to only Esus, the high god. The other gods had abandoned on him, he declared, so they would no longer be welcome within the borders of Camelot. Idols to Epona, Cernunnos, and Brighid, among many others, were smashed, never to have their names uttered again. Even the name of Arthur’s home, once called Kamulos after the god of war, was changed to Camelot.

 The old religion of the Dragon People had been steeped in a history of magic and tradition, with a deity for nearly every occasion. Spirits guarded water springs and forests, offering protection and favors in return for sacrifice. It was the druids who led the required sacrificial rituals, using their magic to communicate with gods. They could channel the power of the gods, and studied for years in order to attain their maximum power. Occasionally, a child would be born with magic, and would be trained from birth to realize their full potential. However, even these young children did not escape Uther’s wrath. Among the heads that he kept as grisly trophies, occasionally a smaller one could be found.

 Desecration of religion was the worst kind of crime a man could commit, and while those that lived in Camelot grudgingly obeyed Uther’s decree, the neighboring tribes were outraged at his heresy. The druids of the Brigantes, spearheaded by the Crow tribe, or Lugi, declared Uther to be an enemy of the gods, and led many attacks against the Dragon Tribe. The feared sorcerer, Emrys, had led some of the most devastating raids, knocking Uther’s men over like daisies and winning every battle he fought. The two tribes waged war back and forth with only the occasional truce, and while they were currently at peace, any minor dispute between the two tribes would immediately fan the barely cooled embers of war once more. Even within Camelot, there were those that secretly worshiped the pantheon or aided druids. However, any practitioner that Uther found was immediately put to death, druid or not.

 Privately, Arthur thought his father’s drastic measures were unhealthy for the people, but he agreed that the druid’s magic was dangerous and powerful. Morgana, his half-sister, mourned the loss of culture, and had begged for Uther to lift the ban, but he remained unmoving. Now, she wandered through the woods, searching for rare herbs and talking to the people. Arthur suspected she was helping druids, but he never said a word, lest his father’s wrath be redirected. But as the reinforced wooden walls loomed above his head, he forced himself to push any lingering doubts away. His duty was to Camelot and his father, he reminded himself as he pushed open the gate, and Uther would rely on his support before the council. Squaring his shoulders, he walked into the council’s meeting room.

 

-M-

 

As Arthur entered the council’s chamber, he noticed it was empty, save for one man -  his father. Despite being seated at the other end of the room, his presence seemed to occupy every inch of space. Although his once-blond hair was now grey with age, his cold grey-blue eyes were as piercing as ever. An elegantly wrought golden torc encircled his neck, showing his status as chieftain, and his fingers were adorned with silver rings. A fine plaid cloak flowed down his broad shoulders, pinned in place with an elegant brooch. Everything about him demanded respect, and threatened retribution if it was not received. Hearing the noise of Arthur’s entry, he looked up sharply from the map he had been examining.

 “Ah, there you are, Arthur,” said Uther, a slight smile twisting his lips. “I was beginning to wonder if Gaius had found you.” Arthur inclined his head slightly in deference.

 “Not to worry, Father,” he said, spreading his arms. “Here I am.”

 “Excellent,” Uther replied, standing up and approaching his son. “I had hoped I might talk to you in private.” Arthur’s stomach flipped nervously. What could be so important that his father had dismissed the entire council?

 “As you know,” Uther continued, “The Belgae have been invading in the south, leaving many vulnerable. Chieftain Tomos, whose tribe is part of the Silures, has sent a messenger to me asking for aid. However, I must inform you of the conditions he has offered.” Arthur’s mind spun. What could he have to do with the Silures? How could conditions of aid involve his opinion?

 “In addition to converting to Esus-worship, Tomos has also offered the hand of his daughter Gwenhwyfar. She has consented to this agreement, so there is no trouble there. However, I have no desire to remarry, so I proposed that you be married to her.”

 Arthur nodded numbly, completely at a loss for words. While he was aware that he should be getting married in the near future, he had never given any thought to a home life. Marriage was for others, not him. He was a warrior. The battlefield was his home, not a thatched hut with a wife and children.  Uther continued speaking, jolting Arthur out of his reverie.

 “Gwenhwyfar is a fine young woman, Arthur. She is strong in her own right, and an excellent weaver. She has skill with both the forge and sword, and is quite beautiful indeed. I’m sure you two will be very happy together.” He placed a hand on Arthur’s shoulder. “When I am no longer able to rule Camelot, a new chieftain will have to be elected. They will look to a man who is not only brave, but can show compassion. It will no longer suffice to be a warrior, Arthur. You must do your duty to Camelot.”

 “A curse on Camelot!” Arthur exploded, stepping back angrily. “Why didn’t you ask me about this?”

 “Because I knew you would disagree,” replied Uther harshly. “Arthur, this alliance will bring great profit to us, and it is time you stopped lusting after battle and learned to do your duty!” He practically spat the last word, glaring thunderously at Arthur.

 “You will agree to this marriage, Arthur,” he said, slamming his fist on the table. “What you do in it is up to you, but I cannot afford to let this opportunity pass.” Arthur held his father’s gaze, combatting icy resolve with fiery anger. “The Dragon Tribe will become great, Arthur. If we persevere, we could lead every Ordovices tribe from here to the sea. It is our destiny - it is _your_ destiny.”

 Before Arthur could reply, shouting was heard in the hall, and the wooden doors burst open. The warriors Llew and Peredur entered, dragging a shackled young man between them. He writhed angrily in their grasp, spitting and cursing. The two warriors forced him to kneel before Uther, and he stared at the packed earth floor, saying nothing. Arthur furrowed his brow. Peredur and Llew were two of his closest friends, along with Gawain and Llywarch. What were they doing here?

 “We caught him by the springs, my lord,” said Llew, rummaging in his pouch. His curly auburn hair bounced as he shook his head. “He was trying to throw this into the water.” He pulled out a small iron token with crude scratchings on it. Arthur’s eyes widened as he read the inscription. It read, “ _Utherix Deiana Sulis Penn Merlin camelotii_ ”. It was a curse! Whoever this “Merlin” was, he wished to defeat Uther in the name of Sulis - a threat that could not be taken lightly. Uther ripped the token from Llew’s hand, casting it aside.

 “Who is this boy?” Uther asked Peredur angrily. “How did he reach the springs?”

 “He’s a slave, my lord,” Peredur replied. “Captured him about a month back. He’s been in the dungeon until a few days ago for disobedience. We’re not sure how he escaped, but-” Uther cut him off, raising a hand for silence.

 “It is forbidden to worship Sulis in Camelot,” he said icily, the evenness of his voice hiding the simmering hatred that lay just beneath. “Tell me, boy, where did you get this?”

 The young man looked up, and Arthur’s breath hitched slightly. His hate-filled eyes were the clearest blue he’d ever seen on a person, and his sharp cheekbones and pointed chin gave him an otherworldly appearance. His hair was long and braided in a few places, but had become matted with dirt, and a blue spiral of a tattoo was visible on his bicep beneath the ragged tunic he wore. There was something about the young man kneeling before him that simultaneously attracted and repelled Arthur, his ethereal good looks making him seem as if he had stepped straight out of myth. He knew that he should not think of a slave, much less a magic practitioner, in such ways, but Arthur simply couldn’t help himself. Suddenly, the criminal’s face contorted into a scowl, startling Arthur.

 “ _E mi avun oov Merlin, ay oov de distryw! E ti a meldithyäv!_ ” The slave spat, shaking with anger. Arthur blinked upon hearing the young man’s speech. It held only the barest similarity to Brythonic, and he could only pick out a word or two. It was obvious that the young man was saying something vengeful, but he had no idea what. However, one word stuck with Arthur: Merlin. That must be his name, he thought, recalling the name on the token. Merlin.

 “He’s a Lugi, from the Brigantes, my lord,” Llew offered to Uther. “Nobody important, though. He seems to understand Brythonic, but he cannot speak it.” As if to prove his point, Merlin muttered “ _E ti joluch nebbeth cantis, revir_ ,” earning a sharp yank on his chains from Peredur.

 “Can not or will not?” Uther wondered idly, gazing down at the young man in chains before him. Merlin stared back defiantly, his gaze unwavering. “Hear me now, Lugi. You have attempted to worship Sulis in Camelot, and for this the penalty is death. You will be taken to the center of Camelot and burnt at the stake. Do you have anything to say in your defence?”

 “ _E ti gwelidh nebbeth namoy celwidhon, hen ffwl!_ ” Merlin said quietly, glaring at Uther. The words may have been lost in translation, but the venom was clear. Arthur winced at the insult, watching as Uther grew even angrier.

 “Take him to the stake, now!” Uther roared. Bowing, Llew and Peredur moved to grab Merlin’s arms once more. Arthur opened his mouth to protest, but before they could drag him out the door, Gawain burst into the chamber, chest heaving.

 “My lord!” He cried, eyes wild. “Excalibur is gone!” Llew blanched, and Peredur’s jaw dropped. Excalibur was the sword used in worship of Esus, and Uther’s most powerful relic. This was a crime tantamount to nothing, and Camelot would not be able to rest until it was found. Uther whirled around, purple with rage. “What? Impossible! Is this the work of Emrys?”

 Merlin smiled triumphantly, smirking at the enraged man. He began to laugh, low at first, but erupting into cruel, taunting bouts of mirth. “ _Edh oot methoy, dadrithent!_ ” Uther backhanded him viciously, his rings leaving bloody tracks on the Lugi’s face. Despite the assault, Merlin continued to laugh, spitting blood at Uther’s feet. The chieftain drew his sword, livid with fury.

 “NO!”

 The word was out of Arthur’s mouth before he could stop it. Before he knew what he was doing, he was standing between Uther and the slave, his palm a mere inch from his father’s sword.

 “Father, let me recover Excalibur. I’ll take Merlin with me as a navigator to get through Lugi lands. You want me to prove myself as worthy? Let me undertake this journey.”

Arthur crossed his arms in what he hoped was a noble manner, squaring his shoulders. Truth be told, he hardly knew what possessed him to engage in this foolishness, yet here he was, practically begging for the life of a slave. A criminal Brigantes slave, nonetheless. Behind him, he heard Merlin exclaim, “ _Taruw-cachu! E gwell war marwav!_ ” but he ignored it, raising his chin defiantly. Uther sheathed his sword, but there was still anger in his eyes.

 “Very well,” he said, “But Llew, Peredur, Llywarch, and Gawain will accompany you. The Lugi are dangerous, and I do not trust this boy. If he shows any signs of treachery, kill him immediately.” Arthur turned to look at the slave kneeling before him. Merlin’s eyes held a mixture of equal parts shock and anger, but he quickly looked to the ground under Arthur’s gaze.

 “Yes, father,” he replied, not facing Uther. He placed a hand around Merlin’s arm, internally wincing at how skinny he was.

 “Merlin, come,” he said slowly, enunciating clearly. The slave’s eyes widened at the use of his name, but he still resisted Arthur’s attempt to take him away. Arthur sighed, exasperated. Things were never easy when the Lugi were involved. Ruthlessly, he twisted the slave’s arm up and behind him. Merlin yelped in pain, and was forced to follow Arthur’s lead in order to stop his shoulder from dislocating. Pushing the slave in front of him, Arthur closed the heavy wooden door with a dull thud of finality.

 

-M-

 

Arthur shoved his new slave into his room, drawing the door closed behind him. Grabbing the young man’s arms roughly, he turned him around so they were eye to eye.

 “Hold still,” he commanded. “Let me take a look at you.”

 Merlin shuffled a bit, but obeyed, his eyes falling sullenly to the floor. Occasionally, they flickered back up to Arthur’s face, but lowered once more when he made eye contact. Stepping back, Arthur examined the young man. To his chagrin, the slave was slightly taller than the master. The Ordovices were a tall and proud people, and Arthur had often been teased for his lack of height. He’d quickly made up for that in his musculature and skill with a sword, but it still served as an annoyance from time to time. Now happened to be one of those times.

 Irked, he rolled up one of Merlin’s sleeves to examine his arms. A triskelion tattoo was etched into his bicep, the three spirals coiling inward and around each other. However, the skin around it was pale from lack of sunlight, and the muscles underneath were barely visible. Arthur clicked his tongue in disappointment. Trust him to end up with a malnourished slave. He probably wasn’t even a warrior, just some foolish boy who’d wandered off and gotten himself captured. Merlin was younger than he’d originally thought, Arthur realized. In fact, they appeared to be about the same age. Our destinies could not be more different, he thought to himself. Whatever Merlin had once been, he would now be Arthur’s slave, if Uther did not have him killed outright. While it was possible for slaves to be freed, it was a very rare occurrence, and undoubtedly Merlin’s fate was to serve until the day he died. This thought saddened Arthur, but he pushed it out of his mind. He could not afford to think of a criminal in such a way if he wanted to succeed in his quest.

 He grabbed the slave by the wrists, lifting them into the air in order to inspect his hands. Merlin hissed in pain, and Arthur let go as if he’d been burnt.

 “You’re hurt?” He asked, brusquely. Merlin’s brow wrinkled as he struggled to translate internally, then smoothed. He raised his shackled wrists in supplication towards Arthur. “Off?” He asked, seeming unsure if he had chosen the correct word. “ _Los de vodh?_ ” His face was open and innocent, completely void of the raw hatred that had been there only minutes before.

 To his surprise, Arthur found himself removing the manacles, gently so as to not further irritate Merlin’s wounds. He let them fall to the floor as Merlin rubbed his wrists, watching the lithe fingers. An artist, Arthur decided, or maybe a weaver. However, his hands would not be of much use to him right now - his wrists were rubbed raw from the cold iron shackles, and bright lines of blood were tracing their way down the back of his hands.

 “Can’t have my slave too injured to do work,” Arthur said gruffly by way of explanation, gesturing to the young man’s wounds. “Let’s take you to Gaius and get those taken care of.” Merlin’s face brightened at the name of the old healer, and he began to speak animatedly. As he moved to follow Arthur, he was stopped short by a finger prodding at his chest.

 “No,” said Arthur, in what he hoped was a firm tone. “You walk in front, so I know you’re not doing anything suspicious.” Searching about his room, he found a rope and crudely tied it into a loop. Slipping it over Merlin’s head, he tightened the knot so it lay against the base of his neck, but was not constricting.

 “This will only hurt you if you struggle,” he muttered, brushing dark hair to the side. Merlin tensed under his fingers, but did not resist. It was surprisingly difficult for Arthur not to card his fingers through the slave’s locks. He kept his own hair shorter than most, since he disliked the way it would get in his face, but still braided small portions of it. However, it looked like Merlin had attempted to keep it neat, even during his imprisonment. Arthur wrapped the other end of the rope around his hand a couple times, then gently tugged on it. Merlin turned around to glare at him, but said nothing. His cheeks flushing with something akin to shame, Arthur wordlessly began down the path towards Gaius’s hut.

 The walk was short and silent, and it was not long before master and slave stood before a squat hut, separated from the living area. Arthur could tell why -  the column of smoke that rose from it was tinged an unnatural shade of green, and foul smells wafted towards them. Wrinkling his nose, he stooped slightly to enter. The old man was seated in a corner, grinding with a mortar and pestle. He looked up at the intrusion, and his eyes widened with shock when he saw the two young men standing before him.

 “Arthur? _Merlin?_ ” He set down his tools, standing up.

 “Hello, Gaius,” Arthur replied. “Wait - how do you know Merlin?” 

The young man in question launched himself at Gaius with a shout, a smile spreading from ear to protruding ear. Gaius returned the embrace warmly before holding him out at arm’s length.

 “ _Ti ema lawer tuvo!_ ” Gaius said, ruffling Merlin’s hair.

 “You speak Kumbraec?” Arthur was thoroughly confused. He knew Gaius wasn't Celtic - he came from across the sea, bringing only his name and healing skills. The fact that he knew a language foreign to the Dragon Tribe puzzled Arthur.

 “I spent many years living with the Lugi to improve my skills as a healer,” Gaius explained. “I knew Merlin’s mother very well, and even treated him a few times as a young boy.” He smiled fondly at Merlin, who grinned back.

 “I had no idea that Merlin had come to visit-” Gaius stopped as he saw the rope collar that encircled Merlin’s neck. “I see.” His wrinkled visage quickly became impassive once more.

 “I’ll just treat these. _Dos_ , Merlin.” He led the slave to the corner, and sat him down.

 “ _Has he hurt you?_ ” Gaius asked quietly, switching to Kumbraec so Arthur could not understand.

 “ _No, but he still treats me as worthless, the stupid prat,_ ” replied Merlin, grimacing as Gaius applied a salve to his wrists.

 “ _He’s a good man, Merlin,_ ” Gaius admonished. “ _He does yet not bear the hatred that his father does for us. However, you must under no circumstances tell him who you are - or what you are._ ”

 “ _Of course not!_ ” Merlin replied, shocked. “ _He wouldn’t swing the sword that would kill me, but he would still condemn me to death. I’m nothing to him,_ ” he finished bitterly.

 Gaius glanced from where Arthur stood watching back to Merlin. “ _We shall see,_ ” he said finally. After wrapping a set of bandages around the slave’s wrists, he stood up.

 “He’s all set, Arthur,” Gaius said, in Brythonic. “I think you’ll find Merlin to be more clever than you would suppose.” He placed a supportive hand on Merlin’s back, but the slave’s face had transformed back into its usual thunderous scowl. He stomped over to Arthur angrily, and lowered his head so that Arthur could put the rope collar back on. Almost regretfully, he did so, but did not tug on it this time.

 “ _Dos_ , Merlin,” he said, imitating what Gaius had said before. Merlin’s brow furrowed at the use of Kumbraec, but he said nothing, stopping at the hut’s doorway to look back. Gaius nodded somberly, indicating he should go. As if on cue, Arthur tugged on the rope, and Merlin turned to follow his new master.

 

-M-

 

Arthur flopped inelegantly onto his hay-filled mattress, letting Merlin’s leash fall to the ground. He kicked off his boots, not caring where they fell.

 “I tell you,” he said, as much to himself as to the young man standing awkwardly in the corner, “it’s difficult to be responsible for somebody else. Where on earth are you going to sleep?” He propped himself up on his elbows, surveying the gangly form across from him. “Certainly not in here, I can’t have you killing me in my sleep.” He smirked at his own attempt at humour, but was met with a stony silence. Suddenly, an idea occurred to him.

 “Tell you what,” Arthur mused, “why don’t you go sleep in Gaius’s hut? Naturally, you’ll have chores to do here, but I can’t be expected to look after you all the time. Who knows, you might even learn something useful.”

Again, he received no response. “I thought you understood Brythonic,” Arthur groused, swinging his legs over the side of the bed. “Let’s try again. You,” he poked Merlin in the chest with enough force to send him staggering. “Sleep,” Arthur closed his eyes and placed his hands under his head, “with. Gai-us. _Chi cwsgu gan Gaius._ ”

 The slave rolled his eyes. “Yes. _E cuskar geniv Gaius._ ”

 “Close enough,” muttered Arthur, lying back on the bed.

 Suddenly a knock sounded urgently on the door. “Arthur? Are you there?” Arthur groaned at the interruption. He gestured to Merlin to open the door. “Go on,” he said. Merlin shuffled to the door and opened it, managing to stub his toes in the process.

 “What is it n-” Arthur’s tirade stopped as he saw Gawain’s face. “You’ve got to come, at once. It’s Morgana.” The warrior was shaken, his normally cheerful demeanor replaced with worry.

 “What happened? Is she alright?”

 “Just come.”

 “Come on, Merlin.” Grabbing the leash, he walked briskly to the chamber.

 As Arthur ran into the council room, he heard shouting. Uther had his hand clenched around Morgana’s arm, and she was struggling wildly.

 “YOU DID THIS!” He roared, spittle flecking his daughter’s face. “YOU BETRAYED ME!”

 “I had no choice!” She screamed back, beating ineffectually on Uther’s chest. “You brought this upon yourself, Uther Penndraig!”

 Spying a piece of cloth on the ground, Arthur stooped to pick it up. On it was written: We have your precious Excalibur. We will destroy it, and it shall never see the light of day again. It was signed with a triskelion, the three spirals tauntingly weaving their way through Arthur’s mind. He examined the cloth closer, and gulped when he realized the truth. The fabric in his fingers was a rich burgundy, and was bordered in golden embroidery, the same as Excalibur’s wrappings. The Lugi weren’t bluffing - they really did have Excalibur.

 “What’s going on?” he asked Gawain, placing a hand on the table. “What’s Morgana talking about?”

 “The script on the curse token was written in Brythonic,” replied Gawain grimly. “There’s no way that Merlin could’ve written it. He had help. When Uther received the message from the Lugi, Morgana’s reaction told him all he needed to know.”

 In front of him, Morgana sank to her knees, arm still in Uther’s grasp.

 “I thought they would ransom it,” she sobbed brokenly. “I thought that negotiations would help fix things. _Chi archaf_ , don’t do this!”

 “Your stupidity has done nothing but re-ignite this war, Morgana,” Uther replied icily. “By the laws of this tribe, you should be condemned to death for aiding Druids.”

 Arthur gasped, stepping forward. Next to him, Merlin’s face mirrored his shock and confusion.

“However,” Uther continued, “no matter what you have done, you remain my daughter, and I cannot bring myself to carry out this sentence. You are hereby banished from Camelot, and may never return upon pain of death. Esus curses you for eternity.”

 He turned away, leaving Morgana sobbing on the ground. “As for you, Arthur, you and your men leave at dawn. You must bring back Excalibur, for the safety of Camelot.”

 “Yes, father,” replied Arthur, trying not to feel Morgana’s furious gaze upon him.

 “You will regret this, both of you,” she hissed. “I will return, and I will have my revenge!”

 Arthur opened his mouth to speak, but was silenced by a gesture from Uther. Without another word, he turned and walked away, Merlin following in his wake, with a last glance back at Morgana. As Arthur walked down the hall, he could hear his sister’s muffled sobs echoing behind him. Merlin reached out to put a hand on his master’s shoulder, but as soon as he made contact, Arthur slammed him against the wall, fingers wrapped around his throat. The slave pulled at Arthur’s hands, struggling to breathe.

 “You knew!” Arthur hissed. “You knew she was going to be caught, and you said _nothing_!”

 Merlin shook his head feebly, eyes desperate.

 “No,” he whispered. “no, no, no! _Ned gooboum!_ ” His struggles became weaker as Arthur closed off his windpipe, eyes rolling back into his head. Still, his lips continued to form words. Arthur let go, letting him drop to the ground. Merlin coughed deeply, rubbing his neck as bruises began to blossom on the pale skin.

 “ _Nu, er y circh amm gooboum, ethir minnent Excalibur pridwerth medhulyháv. Mi Morgana credoes,_ ” Merlin wheezed. Arthur kicked the wall beside him in frustration.

 “I don’t understand what you’re SAYING!” He shouted. “For all I know, you could be confessing your love to me!” Arthur immediately clamped his mouth shut, embarrassed. Why had he thought of that as his example? He crouched down to Merlin’s level, hauling him up by his his hair. Merlin cried out in pain, then coughed again.

 “Did you, or did you not, know that the druids were going to steal Excalibur?” Arthur asked flatly, imitating Uther’s cold anger.

 Merlin nodded weakly. “ _Ihev_ ,” he gasped. “Yes.”

 “And did Morgana give you the curse?” Merlin nodded again. Arthur’s stomach churned. How could Morgana have done this?

 “One last thing. Did you know the druids were going to keep Excalibur?”

 Merlin shook his head as much as he could. “No! _E war my biwit tungoäv!_ ” Arthur couldn’t understand the oath, but he could see the that the young man was telling the truth. Letting go of his hair, he let Merlin drop to the floor once more.

 “We have to prepare ourselves for our journey tomorrow,” Arthur said quietly. “You will start packing my things as soon as we return to my chamber.” Grabbing Merlin’s arm, he hauled him to his feet. “Let’s go.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Utherix Deiana Sulis Penn Merlin camelotii - may I, Merlin, defeat King Uther at Camelot  
> E mi avun oov Merlin, ay oov de distryw! E ti a meldithyäv! - My name is Merlin, and I am your destruction! Three curses on you!  
> E ti joluch nebbeth cantis, revir - Thanks for nothing, asshole.  
> E ti gwelidh nebbeth namoy celwidhon, hen ffwl! - You see nothing but lies, old fool!  
> Edh oot methoy, dadrithent! - You're too late, they've gone!  
> Taruw-cachu! E gwell war marwav! - Bullshit! I'd rather die!  
> Los de vodh? - Please?  
> Ti ema lawer tuvo! - You've grown a lot!  
> Dos - Come  
> Chi cwsgu gan Gaius. - You will sleep with Gaius (Brittonic)  
> E cuskar geniv Gaius. - I will sleep with Gaius.  
> Chi archaf - I'm begging you (Brittonic)  
> Ned gooboum! - I didn't know!  
> Nu, er y circh amm gooboum, ethir minnent Excalibur pridwerth medhulyháv. Mi Morgana credoes. - I knew about the attack, but I thought they would hold Excalibur ransom. I believed Morgana.  
> E war my biwit tungoäv! - I swear on my life!
> 
> I attempted to infer that Gaius was Roman, but that's really not relevant to the plot so no biggie if I made that too vague.


	3. In Which There is a Lugi Attack

Arthur and his men set out at dawn, the faint sunlight filtering through the mist and forest. He was accompanied by Merlin, Llew, and Peredur, as well as Gawain and Llywarch. As they rode through the forest, they chit-chatted idly, passing the time until they reached the edge of Camelot’s territory. The sun was overhead when they reached a grove of trees with markings etched into them.

 “ _Gulat canto_ ,” Arthur read, squinting at the sloping lines. “We’ve reached the border. Best eat now, we don’t know when our next opportunity to rest will be.”

 “Great,” replied Gawain, flopping down next to a tree. “I could use a rest.”

 “Maybe if you’d have rested your mouth for once, you wouldn’t be so tired,” remarked Llew, leading to general laughter. Gawain threw a bannock at him good-naturedly, which Peredur intercepted and crammed into his mouth.

 “Delicious,” he said through a mouthful of cake, smirking. Gawain, mourning the loss of his treat, sulkily flipped over and nestled into the roots.

 Meanwhile, Arthur looped Merlin’s collar around a tree branch and gave him some salted beef and a small knife. It wasn't sharp enough to cut through his bonds or inflict a serious wound, so he felt reasonably safe doing so. The slave glared murderously at the dried meat in his hand, as if it could somehow free him.

 “Come now, Merlin,” Arthur said, clapping him on the shoulder. “Eat up. You’ve got a lot of work to do for us!”

 “ _E cayar de genow_ , prat!” Hissed Merlin, flinching away from Arthur’s touch. Arthur raised an eyebrow.

 “What did you just call me?” He asked, a smile playing about his lips. To think that this slave could insult him like that was honestly more funny than irritating. Merlin leaned forward.

“Prat,” he replied, moving his lips in an exaggerated manner. “Praaaaaat.”

“Very well,” Arthur said, shrugging. “Since you obviously love being my slave so much, you can clean the plates and collect water once you’ve finished your meat.” He slapped the dried beef out of Merlin’s hand, grinding it into the dirt with his heel. “So good of you to finish early.”

Merlin rolled his eyes, but said nothing. He tugged at the rope around his neck, looking expectantly at Arthur. Obligingly, he slipped the collar off, and Merlin began collecting the plates and water skins.

“Gawain, go with him and make sure he doesn’t get into trouble,” Arthur said. Gawain heaved himself up off the ground with a grunt and trudged after the slave, heading down the hill.

“Yes, O mighty _pendeuic_ ,” he called back, rolling his eyes. Arthur good-naturedly lobbed a rock at him, narrowly missing his ear.

“Go with Merlin, make sure that he doesn’t get into any trouble,” Gawain sarcastically muttered under his breath, imitating Arthur. He was surprised to hear a laugh from Merlin, who was grinning widely.

“Go with Merlin,” he parroted, puffing his chest out and looking down his nose regally.

“Thought you didn’t speak Brythonic,” observed Gawain, eyes narrowing. Merlin shook his head.

“ _Na, nid y ger_ ,” he replied, shrugging. He stooped to start filling the water skins, gazing at the opposite side of the riverbank. Suddenly, his eyes widened. “ _Edrichar!_ ” He tackled Gawain, sending them both into the river. Something whistled overhead, and hit a tree just behind where Gawain had been standing with a thunk.

“What the-?” Gawain spluttered, scanning the far side of the bank. He caught a flash of blue as somebody ran away, but he could not see who it had been. Turning around, he looked at the still-quivering arrow embedded in the tree trunk behind him.

“We need to tell Arthur,” Gawain said, pulling Merlin to his feet. The Lugi panicked, waving his hands.

“No, no no no no!” he cried, placing himself in front of the warrior. His eyes were wide with desperation, and he was beginning to babble in Kumbraec. Suddenly, Gawain understood. He placed a hand on Merlin’s shoulder, trying to calm him down.

“You know who did that, didn’t you,” he said, gesturing at the arrow. Merlin nodded miserably. “And you want to protect them?” The sorrowful expression on the slave’s face told him all he needed to know. Gawain sighed, running his hands through his dark brown hair. “Do you think they’ll attack again?” Merlin shook his head emphatically. “ _Canto_ ,” he said, gesturing to the river. “ _Canto_.”

“No, because we haven’t crossed the border yet,” guessed Gawain, interpreting Merlin’s charades. The slave nodded vigorously. “Alright, but only because you saved my life,” Gawain said, pointing a finger at Merlin’s chest. “And you’re polishing my sword for the next fortnight. And saddling my horse.”

Once again, Merlin’s face practically split in half as he grinned from ear to ear. He let out a huffing laugh of relief, then knelt before the warrior.

“ _E ti joluch_ ,” he said gratefully. Gawain rubbed the back of his head, embarrassed.

“Come on, then, we don’t want Arthur to come looking for us,” he said, hauling Merlin to his feet. “And don’t forget the water skins.”

Merlin trotted behind him as the warrior started back up the hill, still professing his thanks. However, as they approached the clearing where they were camped, he promptly clamped his mouth shut. Arthur was standing under an old oak tree, its branches creaking in the wind. He raised an eyebrow at the soaking wet pair as they approached.

“What happened to you?” He asked quizzically, as Peredur muffled a snort of laughter.

“Merlin fell into the river, and I had to fish him out,” said Gawain smoothly. Merlin glared at him, but quickly did his best to look dejected and sorrowful when Arthur glanced his way. If Arthur noticed the underhanded glare, he gave no sign.

“Well, it seems you’re clumsy to boot,” he huffed, scratching his cheek idly. “Did you at least get the water skins?” Merlin nodded, holding Arthur’s in front of him as he stepped forward. However, he stumbled as he approached, and landed straight on top of the full skin, splattering water all over the front of Arthur’s breeches. He looked up at the stain that was spreading across the wool.

“Oops,” he said, a little too smugly. Gawain slapped his hand over his mouth to stifle his chuckles, and Peredur was hiding his face in his hands. Even Llew and Llywarch, normally serious, were smiling. Arthur rolled his eyes.

“Well, _Mer_ lin,” he said, hauling up by the back of his tunic, “I’ll just have to use your skin to repair this.” Merlin’s eyes grew round, but he relaxed as Arthur let him go. “Of course, I’ll be needing your water skin though. I don’t want to die of thirst while my slave is swigging water like there’s no tomorrow.” He turned his face away to hide the guilty look in his eyes. How could he say such horrible things to another person?

While he spoke, Merlin shucked off his ragged tunic and began wringing it out. Arthur made a small noise of surprise, turning his gaze away. He had no taboo about nudity - in fact, he had once charged into battle naked except for his torc and streaks of woad - but for whatever reason, seeing Merlin undress made him uncomfortable. Not that he minded looking. As he watched Merlin pull the damp cloth over his head, Arthur noticed once more how skinny he was. The bumps of his spine pulled the pale skin taut, and his ribs made worrying ridges on his chest and back. Arthur cleared his throat, hoping to stifle the blush creeping up his cheeks, and began to gather his things. Before he could turn around, the branch he was standing under suddenly snapped, crashing to the ground barely an inch away from his toes. Merlin peeked out from behind his fingers, eyes wide.

“Well, it seems Esus wants us on our way,” Arthur joked, hiding his shaking hands. “Gawain, give Merlin a bannock for the road. We need to find somewhere to make camp tonight. Let’s go.”

He dumped his pack in Merlin’s arms, sending him staggering with the weight. “Come along, Merlin!” Arthur called cheerfully, trying to disguise his earlier embarrassment. “We’ve still got several miles to go, and we need you to make sure we’re heading in the right direction!” Merlin grumbled, sullenly kicking rocks, but he took the front position and led the way across the border.

 

-M-

 

The company rode for several more hours, with Arthur and Merlin leading the way. The forest was deeper and darker than those surrounding Camelot, and the oppressive gloom began to dampen everybody’s spirits. Even Gawain’s usual chatter eventually died to a halt as they continued to press through, and they continued in grim silence. As night fell, Arthur called a halt.

“We’ll camp here for the night,” he said, glancing around. “Gawain, you take the first watch. Wake me after three hours.” He removed the rope from Merlin’s neck, but kept the second loop around his own wrist. Instead, he tied their wrists together, trying not to look at Merlin’s disappointed face. He took out his bedroll and spread it on the ground, yanking Merlin next to him.

“Try anything funny and you’ll regret it,” he warned the slave, deliberately laying his sword by his hand. Merlin rolled his eyes, but lay next to Arthur, and was snoring gently in a matter of seconds. However, Arthur lay wide awake. Having their hands tied together forced the pair to be close, and he could not roll away without practically dislocating Merlin’s shoulder. If he rolled closer, he’d be pressed flat against the skinny slave, and Arthur knew exactly what kind of reaction that would elicit in himself. Sighing, he wriggled slightly to find a more comfortable position on his back, bringing the blanket up so that he couldn’t feel Merlin’s breath ghosting across his neck. Merlin grumbled slightly in his sleep as his feet were exposed to the night air, curling into a ball and pressing his forehead to Arthur’s arm. Although his initial urge was to elbow him away, Arthur found himself relaxing at the warm presence by his side.

He glanced down at the slave’s face, observing it in the dim moonlight. Merlin’s brow, normally furrowed, had smoothed in his sleep. Without his perpetual scowl and wary glares, Merlin seemed younger, far more innocent. His black hair shone in the starlight, adding to his unearthly appearance and casting pools of shadows around him.

Arthur mentally kicked himself, turning his head away. This boy was a Lugi and a practitioner of the old religion. He was the enemy, not to be trusted, much less admired like a fine cloth! Uther would forbid it, he reminded himself. While most men would take a male lover for a time, eventually they would find wives and raise families. Using a slave for sexual purposes was not unheard of, but Arthur knew that he would be unable to force himself on Merlin. It would be like desecrating a temple, he thought to himself. Besides, he had no idea if the Lugi even took male lovers. Merlin might not even like him.

 _Of course he doesn’t like you_ , whispered a voice in the back of Arthur’s head. _You captured him, took him away from his family, and made him your slave. You’ve hit him, choked him, shouted at him, and tied a rope around his neck. You’ve made it abundantly clear that you don’t even trust him. Why should he show you anything other than hatred?_

To his surprise, Arthur felt hot tears prickling in his eyes, and his throat grew tight. How could he have treated Merlin so harshly? As a warrior, he was supposed to be honorable, to show courage and be compassionate. However, he realized with a sinking feeling, Uther had also raised him to hate the enemy. The Lugi and Druids were traitors, he’d said with arrogant indifference, only useful as slaves. Arthur had never known any different, and when he was finally old enough to wield a sword, he had put it to use killing the enemies of Camelot. _Merlin is nothing,_ he told himself. _Just a slave. Just a tool._ Thoughts still whirling around aimlessly in his brain, Arthur eventually drifted off to sleep.

 

-M-

 

Arthur woke to the shrill whinny of the horses, sitting upright to find them loose of their ropes and bolting off into the night.

“Gawain!” He shouted, “you were supposed to keep watch!” He reached for his sword, dragging Merlin upright. The slave mumbled sleepily, rubbing at his eyes. Arthur shook his shoulder roughly.

“Come on, Merlin,” he whispered, “Wake up!” Arthur looked around. In the dim moonlight, he could see the other warriors warily forming a circle. It was eerily quiet, and the night shadows created taunting illusions of movement. Arthur slowly drew his sword, trying to muffle the scrape of metal. Unconsciously, he grabbed Merlin’s hand in case they needed to move quickly. Just then, an arrow whistled between their heads, embedding itself in a nearby tree.

“We’re under attack!” Arthur cried. “All men, with me!” He crouched behind a bush, bringing his sword up to defend himself. As arrows continued to rain down around the men, what little moonlight remained was suddenly extinguished. Arthur looked up in shock. Where the moon had once been, black clouds now roiled. The lightning that crackled in them was an unnatural shade of red. It could only mean one thing.

“DRUIDS!” Llywarch cried, as an invisible force swept him off his feet. A crack of thunder sounded, and Arthur could hear somebody shouting words in another language. Magical incantations, he realized. As the chanting continued, Lugi warriors began streaming into the clearing, shouting ferociously. The wave of men crashed into the ring of Arthur’s warriors, scattering them as they fought.

“Arthur! Find Excalibur!” Peredur shouted over the din.

“We’ll distract them! Go!” Added Llew, stabbing a Lugi through the stomach. Arthur turned back with a last regretful glance.

“Regroup at Ebur-akon! If I’m not there in four day’s time, go back to Camelot!” He called back, praying that the Lugi could not understand Brythonic. Hand still firmly clasped around Merlin’s, Arthur sprinted away, hoping he was heading north. His leg throbbed with pain as he tore through the undergrowth, practically dragging Merlin behind him. By some miracle, none of the arrows fired in their direction found their target. Arthur glanced at the dark sky, searching for some sign that he was still heading north, but it remained stubbornly black. Eventually, the noise of battle died away behind them, and the pair drew to a halt, panting.

“We’ll stay here for a bit, to make sure they didn’t follow us,” he said in between breaths. The pain in his calf had yet to subside, and he reached down to massage it. However, his fingers came away black and sticky. Arthur glanced down in surprise and saw an arrow piercing his calf. Black spots swam in front of his vision, and his ears started to ring. Between the blood loss and the adrenaline, his body was no longer cooperating with his mind. As he crashed to the ground, he could have sworn he heard somebody mutter “well that’s just wonderful,” before he lost consciousness.

Arthur woke up with a start, grimacing as pain shot up his leg. More worryingly, the now-familiar presence of Merlin by his side was gone. He looked around, only to see his slave crouched by a small fire. He looked up, startled by Arthur’s movement, but immediately cracked a grin.

“ _Edh aroore a disklerya!_ ” He said happily, stirring a small pot over the fire. Arthur attempted to move, but laid back in agony.  

“I could’ve sworn I heard you speak Brythonic last night,” he muttered, as much to himself as to Merlin. However, he saw the Lugi stiffen out of the corner of his eye, a guilty look on his face.

“You _do_ speak Brythonic,” Arthur crowed triumphantly. Merlin shrugged.

“Not much,” he said, his speech lightly accented. “Gaius taught me some when I was a boy. Besides, it is similar enough to Kumbraec that I can understand. I’m sorry about your leg, it’s my f-never mind. You’re awake now.”

“My leg? Why not speak Brythonic?” Arthur asked, brow furrowing. “You’d be much more valuable -” he immediately shut his mouth as Merlin’s easy grin disappeared.

“That is exactly why,” he hissed, slamming a fist on the ground. “I would have been given to some rich trader and never seen my family again. I probably never will, thanks to that _mochinn-cnuchiwr!_ ” Merlin swiped the back of his hand across his eyes angrily, brushing away tears.

“Well, you are the enemy,” offered Arthur unhelpfully.

“No,” Merlin replied. “Your father is. He turned his back on the gods; he must be punished for his crimes against them.”

“The old gods brought nothing but trouble,” Arthur replied hotly. “Esus alone preserves the order of the world.”

“Why do you think you’re awake?!” snapped Merlin. “It’s because I made an offering to Brighid!” He gestured at the empty forest. “The gods surround us, Arthur, in every part of our lives. For crying out loud, your name comes from Artio!”

Arthur’s brow wrinkled. “Who’s Artio?” He asked. “Is he one of your gods?”

“Goddess,” Merlin corrected sadly. “She’s the goddess of the forest and bears.”

Arthur sat in stunned silence. “My mother gave me my name,” he murmured. “It’s all I have left of her.”

“She would have wanted you to live up to it,” Merlin said, in an uncharacteristic moment of kindness. Then, his expression clouded once more. “I’m surprised Uther even let you keep it.”

“He loved my mother!” snarled Arthur, hand creeping towards his sword.

“So much that he declared war on her people? Destroyed everything she held dear, the very gods she worshiped?” Merlin shouted.

All of the color drained from Arthur’s face, his anger forgotten.

“She was a Lugi?” he whispered. Merlin studied his grief-stricken face, tilting his head slightly.

“You didn’t know,” he said grimly. “Of course, Uther would’ve never told you.” He shifted to face Arthur.

“When the Lugi heard of Ygrain’s death, of course they were deeply saddened. But when they discovered Uther would not give her the burial she merited, that was the spark that started this war. His desecration of our traditions was something we could not stand. And so, we gave aid to the druids of Camelot, sabotaged the fortress, attacked its people - anything to get our revenge. But Uther never broke.”

Merlin turned away from Arthur, who was sitting in shock. “You’d best rest your leg, sire,” he said, switching the subject. “We have a long way to go.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Gulat canto - country border  
> E cayar de genow - Shut up  
> Na, nid y ger - No, not a word  
> Edrichar! - Look out!  
> E ti joluch - Thank you  
> Edh aroore a disklerya! - Rise and shine!  
> mochinn-cnuchiwr - pig-fucker


	4. In Which There is Betrayal, Kissing, and a Druidic Ritual

When Arthur awoke the next day, he was surprised to find his leg nearly completely healed. Even more surprising was the fact that Merlin was snoring gently under a nearby tree. Had Arthur been in a similar position, he would have bolted days ago and left himself for dead. Instead, his wound was tended to, his was stomach full, and his feet were warmed by the fire.

Arthur pulled himself to his feet, feeling only a slight twinge of pain. Spying a small lake a few yards away, he dunked his head under the water, relishing the cold as he came up gasping. He filled his water skin, then returned to the camp. Grinning slyly, he upended it over Merlin’s head, stepping back as the Lugi became instantly soaked.

“Rise and shine, Merlin!” Arthur hooted. Merlin shot bolt upright, pulling his small knife from his belt and shouting. He blinked in confusion upon noticing Arthur, then shoved his knife back into its sheath.

“Very funny, Arthur,” he said drily, but it was plain that he was trying his best not to laugh. “You’re feeling better, I take it?”

“Yes, actually. Where did somebody as inept as you learn how to be a healer?”

“Gaius taught me,” Merlin replied, shrugging. “That, and I’ve always made sure to be on good terms with Brighid. We’re just lucky it wasn’t _Diw Soul_.”

“What does it being Sunday have to do with anything?”

“Because,” Merlin said, as if speaking to a young child, “knife wounds won’t heal if made on a Sunday, and I needed a knife to dig the arrow out.”

“Ah.” Arthur couldn’t help but feel like he should have known that, and quickly changed the subject. “Brighid - you mentioned here yesterday. What is she the goddess of?”

“Healing,” explained Merlin. “Her name means ‘the high one’. She’s actually three sisters, all named Brighid, but they’re all one person at the same time.” He began to gather their sleeping rolls, extinguishing the fire. Arthur’s brow wrinkled.

“How can somebody be three different people?”

“We call it _trienebow_ \- three faces. Each sister represents a different aspect of Brighid: healing, poetry, and smithcraft.”

Arthur slung a bag over his shoulder. “Can you teach me about the rest of the gods?” he asked. “I want to know who my mother worshipped.”

“On the way,” Merlin said. “We’d best be off though. If we hurry, we can make Oeldyr by sunset.”

“What’s O-el-dyr?” Arthur asked, stumbling over the foreign syllables. A faint smile crossed Merlin’s face.

“It’s my home.”

As the duo continued through the woods, Merlin described the ways of the Old Religion to Arthur.

“...And then there’s Sulis, who guards the rivers and springs. If you write a curse on a piece of iron and throw it into a river, she will grant your wish.”

“That’s what you were trying to do when we - er, first met, yes?” Arthur asked.

Merlin squirmed. “Uh, yes. In my defence, that was before you saved my life. I sort of assumed you were a pompous, egotistical prat.”

Arthur suddenly found his heart in his throat. “And what do you think of me now?” He asked, before he could stop the words from emerging.

“I still think you’re still a pompous, egotistical prat,” Merlin smirked, but before Arthur’s spirits could fall too far, he added, “you’ve got good taste in slaves though.”

Arthur could not help but laugh, and was rewarded with one of Merlin’s rare smiles. _It’s so satisfying to watch his eyes crinkle into slits when he grins_ , Arthur thought. _Like when the sun emerges from behind clouds_. And then, _why would I ever think that?_

Sentiment was not in Arthur’s nature, nor was romance. To him, the battlefield had always been first and foremost in his mind, spurning the advances of many young women (and men) so he could keep his freedom. Even though he was now technically engaged, he had given barely any attention to the woman he was marrying. Instead, his gangly slave was running through the forefront of his thoughts, resulting in uncharacteristically poetic musings that even Llywarch would find tacky.

He hated it.

In order to distract himself from this displeasing thought, he began to interrogate Merlin about the Old Religion once more. However, as he watched the Lugi become animated as he described various deities, Arthur’s resolve softened. Maybe the battlefield doesn’t have to be everything, he thought. Maybe there can be a person, too.

Daylight was beginning to fade when Merlin called a halt. “We’ll have to be careful from now on. We’re reaching the border of Oeldyr, and patrols come out to here. You’ll need to take that off,” he said, gesturing to Arthur’s ringmail tunic.

“What? What if we get attacked? I won’t have any armor. And this took nearly eight months to make, I’m proud to wear it!” Arthur squawked.

“Exactly. It marks you as a man of status, and it’s in Camelot colors. You’ll be shot before you even set foot inside the border,” Merlin pointed out matter-of-factly. Sighing, Arthur pulled off the tunic and rolled it up, tucking it at the bottom of his pack regretfully.

“Don’t think this means that you get to tell me what to do all the time, slave,” he said, emphasizing the last word. “I’m merely recognizing that you may have...inside knowledge that is useful.” He nodded to himself. Merlin’s face split in a grin.

“Whatever you say, my lord,” he smirked, bowing. Arthur pulled a plain tunic over his head, hiding the blush rising on his cheeks.

“Subterfuge is overrated,” he grumbled. “Give me a good solid battle any day.”

“Oh, we’re not sneaking in,” replied Merlin cheerfully. Before Arthur could open his mouth to reply, the bushes rustled, and a cry rang out.

“ _Savar!_ Or I will shoot!” A young man emerged from the brush, bow and arrow pointed at the pair. However, he quickly lowered it, a look of shock on his face.

“Merlin?” He asked in disbelief, slinging the bow over his back. “ _Is it really you?_ ”

“Gwilim!” Merlin cried, embracing their would-be ambusher. “ _It’s good to see you!_ ”

“ _And you,_ ” Gwilim replied, clasping Merlin’s shoulders. “ _I could’ve sworn I saw you at the river, but I thought I was dreaming. Who’s this? He wasn’t with you then._ ” He gestured to Arthur, who had warily lowered his hands.

“ _Mu cayth,_ ” Merlin said, his face suddenly clouding. “He’s my slave.”

Arthur lunged forward. “You lying bastard! This was your plan all along?! How could you do this?” Emotions surged through him: rage, despair, hatred, but most prominent of all was betrayal. Gwilim raised his bow once more, and Arthur quickly stopped in his tracks. He looked at Merlin in anguish, but the Lugi avoided his gaze. Instead, he fished the rope noose out of his pack and wordlessly slipped it over Arthur’s head. Side by side with Gwilim, he began walking once more, leaving Arthur to stumble behind him in a daze.

How could he have been so blind? He’d been foolish, letting his emotions get in the way of his judgement. He could hear Uther’s words now, ringing tauntingly in his ears. If he shows any signs of treachery, kill him immediately. Merlin should have been long dead by now, lying in the forest with his pale throat slit. But he had been so innocent, so charming, that Arthur and his men had been hoodwinked. _Father was right_ , Arthur thought grimly. _The Lugi are our enemies. Merlin must die._

 

-M-

 

Oeldyr was smaller than Arthur had expected, but bustled with energy. As the trio entered the settlement, their arrival garnered attention. The Lugi were smaller than the Ordovices, and darker-haired, but they still held the proud bearing that Arthur was accustomed to. Children poked their heads out of round huts, staring with wide eyes at Merlin’s captive. One particularly brave boy ran over to Arthur, touched his hand, then quickly ran back to his friends, giggling.

“ _Mordred, what are you doing?_ ” said Merlin, hands on his hips, but there was no anger in his tone.

“ _Did you summon a spirit, Emrys? His hair is such a funny color!_ ” Asked the boy, blue eyes wide. Merlin chuckled.

“ _No, he’s a person, just like you and me._ ” At this, the rest of the children crept forward, tugging at Arthur and Merlin’s clothes.

“ _The magic, show us the magic, Emrys!_ ” they chorused, pleading with Merlin. Arthur’s stomach twisted. Emrys - the powerful Druid, perhaps the most powerful of all. But Emrys was an old man, and there was no way a clotpole like Merlin could have magic - was there?

“All right,” Merlin sighed, but he was still smiling. He closed his fist and whispered, “ _gewyrc an lif_.” To Arthur’s horror, Merlin’s eyes flashed gold, and when he opened his hand, golden butterflies flitted away. The children cried out with delight, chasing after the insects.

“You’re a druid,” Arthur said flatly, trying to disguise the pain in his voice. “You can do magic.”

“Yes,” replied Merlin, his face impassive. “I can.”

"The tree branch, and the arrows; was that you?" Asked Arthur, his gut sinking.

"Yes," came the flat response.

“One last thing: they called you Emrys. Are you him?”

“Yes.”

All of the wounds that Arthur had ever experienced could not compare to the knife he felt in his heart. He choked back a sob, trying to hide his emotions, but he failed miserably. As he stumbled behind Merlin, oblivious to the shouts of children, tears began to stream down his face. All those coincidences that had spared his life until now - was all of this Merlin manipulating his life for his own purposes? The young man he had grown to care for was not a man at all - he was a monster. Eventually, Merlin led Arthur to a roughly hewn cage, standing nearby a bonfire. He shoved Arthur in, removing his sword.

“How could you do this?” Whispered Arthur in anguish.

“Because,” replied Merlin, face impassive. “You took everything away from me. My family, my friends, my religion - my hope. Now, it is my turn.” He turned around, tying the door shut. He walked away without a backward glance, laughing and chatting with Gwilim. Arthur hunched miserably in the cage, hugging his knees. Normally, he would be searching for any sort of weak spot, but now he was too grief-stricken to care. Merlin lied, he thought despondently. The tree branch, the arrows - he’s been fighting against me this entire time, and I was too blind to see it.

He thought back three years, to his first battle, when he was only fifteen. Uther had finally consented to let him fight, letting him lead a small group of warriors. His hands had been shaking with adrenaline, so badly his woad paint was barely more than splotches, but in that day he had come alive. They had cornered a group of druids, having chased them from their camp. They consisted mostly of women and children, but Arthur knew they were just as dangerous as any man. He had raised his swordin the air, when suddenly an invisible force had knocked him off his feet. Thunder sounded, and the sky had grown dark. Arthur had looked up in terror, seeing an old man illuminated by lightning, white hair whipping in the wind. “Go,” he had commanded, in a voice that shook Arthur to his very core. And so he ran, tears streaking the blue paint on his face. After the battle, Uther berated him, lecturing on the disgrace of cowardice, and he had resolved never to fear magic again. But now, he could feel the scared little boy gaining control once more, and he ground his teeth. For now, all he could do was wait.

As Arthur waited, the Lugi began to set up a bonfire in the clearing. More and more began to gather as the day passed, and eventually nearly the whole tribe was present. Merlin was seated nearby, talking animatedly with Gwilim. He had cleaned himself, re-braiding his hair and dressing in a blue tunic. A torc of unusual red-gold wrapped around his neck, burning in the firelight. He never once looked in Arthur’s direction, and seemed completely at ease.

Eventually, an older couple appeared, the man craggy and the woman care-worn. Merlin jumped up with a shout, embracing them both. Arthur gulped. Underneath the man’s shaggy beard, the golden gleam of a torc shone. Merlin was a chieftain’s son, to boot. As he watched, Merlin began talking, occasionally gesturing to the cage where he was held. A clean-shaven, shifty looking man sidled in, and whispered in the chieftain’s ear. Arthur noticed he wore an unusual arm bracelet, designed to look like a snake curled around his bicep. The chieftain nodded once, then said something Arthur could not understand. Merlin began to protest, but his father cut him off. Arthur buried his head in his hands. He was going to be executed, for sure.

His stomach rumbled as a roast pig was brought out to the bonfire, meeting with a roar of approval from the crowd. Some of the younger children, led by Mordred, made a game of tossing scraps towards the cage. Swallowing his pride, Arthur reached for the discarded food only to see it snatched away, resulting in laughter from child and adult alike. Once the feast drew to a close, people began to quiet, and a few pulled out flutes and harps. A young woman stepped up after much demurring, and began to sing a haunting melody. Although Arthur could not understand the words, the heartache in the song echoed the pain in his own chest.

It was late at night when the bonfire was finally extinguished, a few solitary embers still glowing in the darkness. Arthur lay on his side, trying to pillow his head on the grass that peeked between the bars. Best sleep, he told himself. Dawn would most likely bring his death, and it would not do him well to greet Esus tired and irate. He wondered what his father’s reaction would be when Arthur’s head was tossed on the ground before him. Uther might not even get his head, just a chalky ball formed from his brains and quicklime. As for burial, he would be lucky to even get a shallow grave. His reverie was interrupted by a whisper.

“Hey, prat!” hissed Merlin, shaking his shoulder. “Get up, we’re going to get Excalibur and get you out of here!”

Arthur grabbed him by the wrist, squeezing tightly. “And why should I believe you, traitor?” He snarled. Merlin rolled his eyes.

“Because of this,” he whispered, planting a kiss squarely on Arthur’s lips. Arthur had been kissed before, but the warmth that flooded through him was unlike anything he'd ever experienced before. He involuntarily brought a hand up to card through Merlin’s hair, tilting his head slightly to deepen the kiss. Merlin hummed slightly, closing his eyes, but then pulled back and looked at Arthur expectantly. “Very nice, but we need to go. Now.”

Arthur was frozen in shock. Imminent death, he could handle. A kiss was something else entirely. He let Merlin drag him out of the cage, still processing what had just happened. _All right_ , he thought to himself. _Think. THINK. You are currently escaping from a bunch of Lugi who are trying to kill you, looking for a relic sword with your former slave who just happens to be Emrys, the most powerful druid known to mankind. And he just kissed you. Right._

"But the arrows, and the tree branch," he protested. "I thought you were trying to kill me!"

"No, you dollophead, I was trying to save you!"

"Why didn't you tell me your plan?" Whispered Arthur, still somewhat upset.

"I needed your reaction to be genuine," replied Merlin. "Now hurry up!" With his last reprimand, the druid sped into the shadows, checking over his shoulder to make sure Arthur followed.

Arthur squared his shoulders and ran after Merlin, shaking his head to clear it. He stayed low to the ground as his instincts kicked in, crouching in the shadows. On Merlin’s lead, he followed him past a series of round huts towards a cave. A lone man stood guard, but Merlin’s eyes flashed gold and he slumped against the wall, snoring. Come to think of it, Arthur had never actually seen Emrys kill anybody, but he pushed the thought away as they entered the cave.

 

-M-

 

Arthur expected the cave to be dark, but instead it was brightly lit by glowing crystals. There were shrines carved into the walls to deities he had never seen, strange, horned figures engraved with swirling patterns.

“That man who was talking your father,” Arthur said conversationally, “Who was he?”

Merlin’s face hardened. “Agravain,” he spat. “He’s convinced that the only way we can be safe is to kill you all.”

“And your father?”

“Initially, he supported peace, but Agravain has his ear, and I cannot shake him.” Merlin kicked a rock, sending it skittering into the dark.

“...And you?” Arthur prompted. It was a long time before Merlin answered.

“I saw with my own eyes what your father did to my people. Men, women, and children, all killed for having magic. I was so angry, I would’ve done anything to stop it. I let myself get captured, so I could work from the inside, but- but then I saw the people of your tribe, they don’t agree with Uther either. It would be wrong to kill them all. When I saw what he did to Morgana, I knew he was the problem, not you.”

“Did my father know that he-?”

“That he had captured the fearsome Emrys?” Merlin chuckled. “Not in the slightest. I never once used magic in Camelot, even when he threw me in the dungeon for disobedience. He never looked twice at me.”

Merlin raised his hand. “We’re here.” He stooped down, reaching into a hole carved into the luminescent rock. He pulled out a cloth-wrapped object, presenting it to Arthur with both hands. Arthur took it reverentially, pulling back the burgundy fabric. Sure enough, the golden, jewel-encrusted hilt of Excalibur peeked out. Arthur pulled Merlin into a hug, nearly crushing the skinny boy.

“Thank you, Merlin,” he whispered, throat tight. “You’ve given me hope.”

“You’re...squishing...me...you...prat!” Arthur released him, clearing his throat.

“So, this cave...what is it?” He asked. “And what are these?” He reached towards one of the shining crystals.

“No, DON’T!” cried Merlin, but it was too late. Arthur’s hand made contact with the crystal.

It was as if he had been struck by lightning. His entire body shuddered, and his eyes rolled back. In his mind’s eye, he could see-

_A hooded figure stepped off a boat, striding across a moonlit beach. It was greeted by a tall, dark-haired man dressed in furs and holding a spear. Two pale hands raised the hood, revealing-_

_“Morgana!”_ cried Arthur, still in the throes of his vision. He could dimly feel something wrapped around him, cool pressure at his temples.

_" **Su es dumenwár** ,” the man said mockingly, harsh words echoing across the sand. “Our people have been enemies for generations.”_

_“Do not test me, Cenred,” snapped Morgana. “I have given you my conditions, do you agree?” The man nodded. “Good. Prepare your army; we sail for Camelot at dawn!”_

“Arthur! ARTHUR!”

And then he was back in the real world, gasping for air. Merlin was draped over him, touching their foreheads together and massaging Arthur’s temples.

“That was very dangerous, Arthur,” he admonished, looking half scared to death. “You could’ve died; the crystals can only be used by somebody with magic. You were lucky I was able to transfer some of the energy away from you.”

“We have to get back to Camelot,” Arthur panted. “Morgana is going to attack, she’s formed an alliance with the Belgae. They’re going to be crushed!”

“We have to talk to my father,” said Merlin, face grim. “Even Agravain will agree to help if the Belgae are involved. Follow me.”

Together, Arthur and Merlin sprinted out of the cave, running into one of the larger living huts. The chieftain and his wife lay next to each other on their bed, both asleep.

“Father!” Cried Merlin, shaking his shoulder. “Wake up!” The grizzled man became instantly alert, reaching for his sword.

“Chieftain Balinor, the Belgae are planning an attack on Camelot. If they destroy us, they'll come for you next,” said Arthur, hands in the air. “Merlin, can you tell him that?”

“ _Penn Balinor, er Bolgi circhoir Camelot_ ,” translated Merlin. Balinor glowered at Arthur.

“ _P’rak e credoäv map er bradur Penndraig?_ ” Balinor rumbled.

“He asks why he should believe the traitor Penndraig’s son,” said Merlin. “His words, not mine.”

Arthur wrested the torc from his neck, placing it on the ground before the chieftain. “I swear on the four elements that if you help us, I will restore the Old Religion to Camelot. Your people will no longer be hunted.”

Merlin translated dutifully, pleading with his father. The chieftain listened silently, then nodded in agreement. However, man with the snake armband Arthur had seen earlier came running in, having heard voices. He began talking with Balinor and Merlin, clearly agitated. While Arthur couldn’t understand, he sensed there was disagreement. Merlin continued to speak, begging Balinor, while Agravain talked over him. Eventually, Balinor thundered a command, and they both fell silent. He began to issue orders, pointing first at Merlin, then Agravain. Merlin began to protest, but was cut off by a smug look from Agravain. He turned away in disgust.

“My father will send aid, but Agravain and his men will come with us,” he said angrily. “We can’t trust him, I know he’s plotting something, that _map an y ast!_ ”

“Well, we have to take what we can get,” sighed Arthur. “Don’t worry, I’ll keep a close eye on him.”

Merlin shook his head, but said nothing, blue eyes grim.

 

-M-

 

Arthur paced up and down anxiously. “Why can’t we set off yet? Balinor's already explained what's happening to the council, and they've all agreed to help,” He hissed at Merlin. The former slave remained unperturbed.

“Because we need to make an offering to Kamulos,” he explained. “We’ll need the gods on our side if we’re going to defeat the Belgae."

"Your gods didn’t help you defeat Camelot,” Arthur pointed out, hoping to elicit a reaction from Merlin. Instead, he merely shrugged.

“Maybe they wanted us to join together instead, and that is why there was never a clear victor in this war,” the druid responded sagely. Arthur, having nothing to say, made a face and sat under a tree, waiting for Merlin to complete his ceremony. Privately, he thought it would be interesting to watch, but he refused to let Merlin see his interest. As he waited, Merlin put on a richly embroidered robe, and began to set up the altar.

In the center of a clearing sat a large stone table, covered in white cloth. He placed a chalice, a sickle and a wand on each edge of the table, then turned to Arthur.

“With your permission, I’d like to use Excalibur in this ceremony. It may help show the gods the unity of our purpose.” Arthur hesitated for a moment, then pulled out the sword. Merlin took it in a two-handed grip, then placed it gently on the last empty face of the table. At the corner of each clearing, he created three smaller, colored altars, which had various jugs and pots on their tables. Around the rock, Merlin placed three cauldrons, filled with dirt, water, or incense. Next, he set two small jugs on the north face of the table, and walked around the entire clearing in a circle. As he did so, the rest of the Lugi began to gather, waiting for the ceremony to begin.

Merlin rang a bell, then began to chant. “ _Minn er daer issonn, minn er mor an adsenyöuch, minn er oobur ouchonn, dowouch duni a duwow._ ” Followed by Mordred, who was bearing a torch, he began to circle again, leading the Lugi. Arthur hung back, unsure of what to do. If he did nothing, he could disrupt the ritual, losing the trust of Merlin and the Lugi. If he joined, he would betray everything he had previously stood for, and his father could have him executed. However, the prospect did not frighten him any more. To his surprise, nor did his father. I’ve already got myself in deep enough, decided Arthur, and began to follow the Lugi. A few eyebrows raised, but nobody stopped him. Once the circuit was complete, Merlin returned to the center and turned to face the congregation.

“ _Gwerinedh andho bran, cerent andho daer, gweridhon andho mamm. E ti galwouch dudho cidyouch innonn yoli._ ” He locked eyes with Arthur. “Arthur of the Dragon People,” he continued in Brythonic, “friend of the Earth, child of the Mother, I call you to join us now in sacred worship.” A woman audibly gasped, and confused glances were exchanged, but once again nobody dared interrupt a priest. Arthur was stunned. He couldn’t believe that Merlin would risk the sanctity of his ritual in order to include an outsider - especially one who until recently had been their prisoner. Nevertheless, he nodded in acknowledgement, indicating Merlin should continue. Merlin grinned, and walked to the south.

“We are here to offer sacrifice to Kamulos, that we may seek victory in battle,” he called, first in Kumbraec, then Brythonic. Afterwards, the dark-haired girl that had sung last night took a pitcher from the eastern altar and poured a few drops of water on Merlin’s hands. He washed his face, then took the pitcher and poured some on his companion’s hands. Merlin then stepped to the edge of the circle and poured water on each person’s hands, the priestess then drying them afterwards. Once everybody had been washed, Merlin returned to the center.

“ _The people are now purified and ready to consecrate this field_ ,” the priestess proclaimed. Mordred, still bearing his torch, circled the area once more, then walked to the center altar and lit it.

“ _This space is now sacred and ready to be consecrated_ ,” he said proudly. Merlin ruffled his hair as the boy scampered back to his place in the circle. Merlin rang a bell, and the Lugi joined hands. To his surprise, Arthur felt a warm hand encircle his. He looked to his left and saw Merlin’s mother smile at him. He returned it hesitantly, squeezing her hand gently. As Merlin continued to chant, Arthur watched intently. Although he could not understand, he occasionally heard the name of a god or goddess Merlin had told him. Occasionally, the Lugi would respond, “ _Gadel bit!_ ” to Merlin’s proclamations. After a few times, Arthur chanted along with them, earning him a look of approval from Merlin.

Two men and a woman stepped forward, taking a tool from each side of the central altar. They began to chant, raising their instruments to chest height, then together to a point. Arthur could feel the air around him crackle with lightning as clouds began to part, light shining down onto the altar. I _t truly is magic_ , he thought. _It’s been here, all along_. Merlin brought forth a goat, and while the priestess began to sing, he slit its throat with a grimace. He collected its blood in a bowl, then placed it on the altar, still praying.

An old man walked to the center of the altar, raising his arms to the sky, robes trailing behind him like wings. He called loudly to the gods, then reached into a bag and pulled out a stone. He held it aloft, addressing the crowd. There were rumbles of confusion and worry, through which Arthur caught only one word: Emrys. However, Merlin stepped back into the circle, calling for quiet. He held up a chalice, crying out, “ _Sillent, y duwredh ano biwit!_ ” and began to pass it around. Each person repeated his words, drinking a sip from the chalice the passing it to the left. Arthur did his best to mimic the chant, fumbling the words, but Merlin’s mother nodded as she took the chalice from him.

Once everybody had drank from the chalice, the three participants from earlier picked up bowls and turned to the east, west, south, and north. Everybody joined hands again, and Merlin recited the chant that he had opened with. The priestess threw powder into the fire and rang a bell, signaling the end of the ritual. The Lugi dispersed, still muttering among themselves, and Merlin practically ran out of the circle. Curious, Arthur tracked him, following the crashing noises as he pushed through the undergrowth. He stepped over the discarded formal robes, spying Merlin crouched by the shore of a lake.     

“That was...quite something,” Arthur said softly, walking over to where Merlin was washing himself.

“You mean you’ve never participated in a ritual before?” He asked, eyes widening.

“Not one like that,” Arthur backpedaled. “The ones that Gaius would conduct are much more - um, succinct. And of course, only to Esus.” He rubbed the back of his neck. “Uh, thank you for including me. It means more to me than you may know.”

“It would be crazy of me not to,” Merlin replied, reaching out for Arthur’s hand. Still slightly damp, his long fingers were cool around Arthur’s. “You mean more to me than you may ever know.”

“How could you say something like that?” Replied Arthur, pulling his hand away. “I’ve hit you, shouted at you, taken you for granted - I’ve been nothing but horrible to you. You should hate me.”

“I should,” said Merlin softly. “You’ve been my enemy for as long as we’ve been alive.” Arthur hung his head. It had all been a ruse, a trick to get him to betray his father. He knew it all along.

“But I don’t.” Arthur looked up to meet Merlin’s gaze. Instead of the hatred his eyes had held when they’d first met, Merlin’s blue eyes were filled with tenderness.

“Your first act towards me was to save my life. After that, I knew every time you hit me, mocked me, spat in my face, it was because you were afraid of what you had done. You didn’t want to look weak for caring about a slave, so you took it out on me.” He sat on a nearby rock, pulling Arthur down next to him. “And I would do it all again, if it meant we ended up here. Only for you, Arthur Pendeuic. I will only ever fight for you.” He took Arthur’s hand once more, placing it over his chest. Beneath the thin fabric, Arthur could feel Merlin’s heartbeat thrumming, fully aware that his own pulse was racing just as quickly.

“This heart beats for you,” Merlin said, his voice barely above a whisper. He moved his Arthur’s hand into his own, entwining their fingers. “These fingers work for you.” Next, he brought their hands to his face. “These eyes see for you.” Arthur finally found his voice.

“Merlin?”

“Yes?”

“Shut up.” He pulled the young druid close, pressing their lips together. Rather than the hasty kiss they had shared the night before, Arthur took his time, savoring the sensation of Merlin’s lips against his own. Their hands remained locked together, palms pressing against one another.

“ _Chi yw llawenyt fy calonn,_ ” Arthur whispered, leaning his forehead against Merlin’s. 

“Your heart's joy? Well, doesn’t that make me special,” chuckled Merlin, but his eyes remained locked with Arthur’s. “Come on, the others will be wondering where we are.” He pulled Arthur to his feet, and the pair set off back towards Oeldyr.

As they walked, Arthur cleared his throat. “That old man, he said something that seemed to upset a lot of people. What was it?”

“Kilgharrah is our seer,” Merlin replied. “He interprets the future through the stones. He said that a dark day is coming for the Lugi, but if we refuse to face it, then we will be met with an even worse fate. Emrys will die at Camavon, he said, when day is night and friend is foe.”

“That’s ridiculous, day can’t be night!” snorted Arthur, earning him a disgruntled glance from Merlin.

“Kilgharrah’s prophecies are never wrong,” he retorted. “Just confusing.”

“Well, we just need to keep you away from Camavon, wherever that is,” said Arthur half-heartedly, trying to inject some humor into the dark thoughts.

“Kilgharrah’s said stranger things,” Merlin replied. “He’s also said I’m going to live to see the Golden Age of Albion, so who knows what’s in store for me?” With that, he walked back into the boundary of the settlement, leaving Arthur with a knot of worry in his stomach.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Savar! - Stop!  
> Su es dumenwár - you must be desperate (Gaulish)  
> map an y ast - son of a bitch  
> Minn er daer issonn, minn er mor an adsenyöuch, minn er oobur ouchonn, dowouch duni a duwow. - By the earth beneath us, by the sea surrounding us, by the sky above us, we come to the gods.  
> Gwerinedh andho bran, cerent andho daer, gweridhon andho mamm. E ti galwouch dudho cidyouch innonn yoli. - People of the Raven, friends of the earth, children of the Mother, I call you to join us now in worship.  
> Gadel bit! - Let it be!  
> Sillent, y duwredh ano biwit! - Behold, the waters of life!  
> Chi yw llawenyt fy calonn. - You are my heart's joy.  
> The Druidic ritual is as accurate as I could make, but if anybody who follows the Celtic pantheon notices any glaring errors please let me know.


	5. In Which the Author Starts to Become a Dick

The next morning, the army of Lugi set off for Camelot, armed to the teeth and itching for a fight. Men and women painted their faces blue, and ponies dragged small chariots behind them. As they walked, the Lugi banged their swords on their shields, singing to the beat. Behind them came twenty-seven druids, all cloaked and grim-faced. Among them was the priestess that had aided Merlin in his sacrifice, seemingly diminutive amongst the other men. Arthur nudged Merlin, indicating her.

“She seems a little out of place,” he whispered.

“Oh, that’s Ffraid,” replied Merlin cheerfully. “She’s the high priestess to Cernunnos, and he’s given her a great gift. She’s probably one of the most dangerous druids we have.” Arthur quirked an eyebrow. Cernunnos, if he recalled correctly from Merlin’s teachings, was the god of animals. If she was as dangerous as Merlin said, then he certainly would not wish to be on her bad side. Come to think of it, Arthur had once seen men return from a raid with huge gashes that could only have been made by a giant animal…

“Arthur, do you remember how many Belgae you saw in your vision?” Merlin prompted, scattering Arthur’s grisly thoughts.

“At least ten boats,” he replied, struggling to remember. “Their leader - Cenred - I’ve heard of him from the other chieftains. He’s devious, Merlin. He has no honor. There’s nothing he won’t do to win.”

“Well then, it’s a good thing he’s going to lose,” said Merlin grimly. “How do you suggest we go about ensuring that?”

“Camelot isn’t too far from the Valley of Kings,” Arthur replied. “If we can lure some of the Belgae down it, the druids can collapse rocks on them, and archers can pick off the rest. Maybe if we’re lucky, Cenred will be in there. Either way, it should back them up quite a bit.”

“And if not?”

“Then we’ll sweep down from the hillside with the chariots, pressing them against the riverbed. The Belgae outnumber us, but we have Emrys on our side.” Arthur grinned.

“Don’t call me that,” Merlin said, making a face. “Emrys isn’t me - he’s somebody else entirely. And he’s not very nice. I’m just Merlin.”

“There’s nothing ‘just’ about you,” Arthur whispered, grabbing Merlin’s hand. “But just so we’re clear, you’re still helping, right?”

“Of course, you prat! Why else would I be killing my backside riding with you?”

Arthur laughed. “All right, you’ve made your point.” Suddenly, a thought struck him. “When I was wounded, how long was I unconscious?” 

Merlin considered, eyes flitting skyward. “About two days,” he mused.

“And if we spent three days travelling to Oeldyr, and another two there, it’s been seven days since we separated from the rest of my men. They must think I’m dead,” Arthur said morosely.

“Well then, imagine their surprise when you come riding back with an army and Excalibur!” Merlin chuckled, eyes wrinkling with mirth.

“They’ll have told my father,” said Arthur, still downcast. “I wonder how he felt.”

“Does it really matter?” asked Merlin, eyebrows raised.

“Yes, _Mer_ lin, it does matter,” Arthur snapped back. “Because I’m supposed to be betrothed to a woman, and if I’m no longer around, then any deal he forged with her tribe will fall through.”

Merlin’s face darkened. “You never said anything about a woman,” he muttered, turning away from Arthur.

“No, Merlin, it’s - it’s not like that,” Arthur hastened to add. “I’ve never even met her, she was supposed to marry Uther, but he didn’t want her-”

“Don’t bother,” said Merlin, the hurt clear in his voice. “I’m going to go check with the commanders.” He kicked his horse’s sides, galloping away.

Arthur blinked. He’d never expected Merlin to be the jealous type, much less react with as much bitterness as he had done. As much as he wanted to go after the young druid, his pride made him hang back. After all, he’d only stated a fact. He’d never even said anything about Gwenhwyfar, much less something that would make Merlin jealous. He sighed. Camelot was nearing, and he would have to confront his fears soon enough. Merlin’s feelings would have to wait.

Arthur spurred his horse, riding to the front of the group. Sure enough, Merlin was there, talking in hushed Kumbraec with the other Lugi. He flicked a scathing glance Arthur’s way, but said nothing. The scowl reminded Arthur of how Merlin had looked when he was first enslaved, a lingering resentment deeper than a flare of anger. Raising his hand, Arthur indicated a halt.

“Tell them to stay back until I’ve cleared their arrival with Uther,” he said to Merlin. Again, the reluctant disobedience spoke volumes about how the druid felt.

“ _Eryodhet tra'chean, lavri gant Utherix_ _,_ ” Merlin called, pointedly refusing eye contact with Arthur. There was some muttering, but the band of Lugi held back. Spying Camelot’s fortress in the distance, Arthur rode towards it. Hopefully, his welcome wouldn’t be too estranged. As he approached the gates, he could see Gawain on guard duty, lazily crunching on an apple. Seeing a rider approaching, Gawain drew himself up.

“Halt!” he called. “All those wishing to enter Camelot must - _Arthur?!_ ” His eyes boggled as Arthur dismounted. He knew he must look a sight, dressed in Lugi clothing, dirty, and bandaged.

“Glad to see you haven’t changed in my absence, Gawain,” he smirked, embracing the taller man.

“We thought you were dead,” Gawain replied in an uncharacteristic moment of tenderness. “We were going to hold a burial ceremony tomorrow.”

“Well, you’d best call it off then,” replied Arthur. “How did my father take it?”

“You’d best see for yourself,” came the somber reply. Heart thudding in his chest, Arthur ran past Gawain without another word. He burst into the council chamber, breathing hard and leaving the door ajar. What he saw made him put a hand to his mouth.

Uther sat hunched in his chair, looking older than his years. Maps were sprawled in front of him, marked with different paths. Food and drink sat untouched by his side. By the looks of things, he had not moved for days.

“Father,” Arthur choked out. Uther did not hear. “Father,” he repeated, stepping closer to his chair. “I’m here. I’m alive.”

“Arthur,” gasped Uther, rising from his chair. “Can it really be?”

“Yes,” replied Arthur, holding back tears. “It’s me.”

“Thank Esus,” Uther whispered, hugging his son tightly. “I thought I had lost you. My dear boy.” He held Arthur at arm’s length. “But I forget, you’re not a boy any more,” he said fondly. “You look just like your mother.”

“About my mother,” Arthur said, stepping back. “When were you going to tell me she was a Lugi?” In a blink, Uther’s happiness vanished, replaced by a thunderous scowl.

“Who told you that?” he asked harshly.

“Well-”

“It was one of the druids, wasn’t it? Arthur, they will fill your head with nothing but lies!”

“They told me the truth!” Arthur shouted back. “They told me you were driven mad by grief, that you disrespected their traditions!”

“I did what I felt was right!” yelled Uther, slamming his fist on the table. “Ygrain, she deserved so much more than to be buried in some dank hole,” he whispered, the anger draining out of him. “She was like the sunlight itself. She belonged to the sky.”

“Father,” ventured Arthur. “The Belgae are coming, with Morgana at their side. The Lugi have agreed to give us -”

“We cannot accept anything those traitors have to offer,” Uther said quietly. “Send them away, before they cause the destruction of Camelot.”

“If we don’t accept their help, Camelot will be overrun by the Belgae,” Arthur pleaded. “We don’t have enough warriors to defeat them on our own. The people won’t be able to defend themselves. Hundreds will die.”

“If that is what Esus has decreed, then so be it.” Uther’s face was impassive.

“How can you change so fast?” Arthur cried. “That you would sacrifice our entire tribe for the sake of your pride, not a minute after welcoming me back with open arms?” He leaned over the table. “I’m simply _doing my duty_ _,_ ” he snarled, spitting Uther’s words back in his face.

Uther studied his face for a minute. “You’ve changed,” he finally said. “You are no longer the man you once were.”

“I’ve learned so much, Father,” Arthur said. “All the things you tried to keep from me. The Lugi aren’t our enemy, they -” 

“Enough!” Uther snapped. “The druids have cast a spell on you. They’ve poisoned your mind against me. Go to Gaius and have him give you a remedy.”

“Then I suppose there was no point in me bringing this!” shouted Arthur, flinging Excalibur to the floor with a clatter. He ground it into the dirt floor with his boot heel. “You talk about duty to the people, when all you ever wanted was your own revenge! And you used me to carry it out!” He stared at his father in anguish. “I killed for you, Father. I believed it was right! Men, women, and children, they all died because of you! How is that serving the people?” In their rage, neither man noticed a thin face poke through the doorway, its owner stealthily nocking a bow.

“I am your father and your king!” Uther roared, hand on the hilt of his blade. “You will respect me, and you will respect Esus! I will _not_ stand for your treachery!” Arthur reached down to grab Excalibur, but before he could, a feathered shaft protruded from the back of his hand and pinning it to the floor. He cried out in pain, struggling to free himself from the ground. Another arrow whizzed over his head, barely deflected by Uther’s blade. The would-be assassin revealed himself in full, shooting arrows faster than Arthur could see. However, Uther deflected them all. One by one, the arrows clattered to the floor, until one embedded itself in Uther’s sword arm. He roared with pain, dropping his sword. The thin man darted in, a flash of iron in his hand. Arthur could do nothing but watch in horror as Uther struggled with the assassin, falling to the floor. As if in slow motion, Arthur saw the assassin reach back into his belt, pulling out another knife and stabbing Uther in the gut.

“NO!” he cried, but it was too late, and the assassin ran off. Pulling himself free of the arrow with a grunt, he ran over to where Uther lay on the floor, ignoring the pain.

“Hold on, Father,” he begged, pressing his hands over the bloody wound. “Guards!” He cried. “ _Somebody get Gaius! NOW!_ ”

 

-M-

 

Arthur sat at his father’s bedside, eyes drooping. Gaius had bandaged his hand and given him a tonic, but Uther was grievously wounded, and Arthur would not leave his side. He held his father’s hand in his uninjured one, resting it against his cheek.

“I’m so sorry, Father,” he whispered. “This is all my fault.” Uther’s face was pale and unmoving. Arthur glanced up at a flurry of movement. Merlin had entered the room, a satchel slung around his shoulder.

“What are you doing here?” Arthur asked icily.

“I summoned him,” said Gaius, emerging from behind Merlin. “Your father’s wound is too deep for me to heal alone. Only with the use of magic do we stand a chance of saving him.” The old healer’s wrinkled visage was grim as he urged Merlin forward. The druid stood at the foot of Uther’s bed, gazing down at the injured man.

“ _I could kill him_ ,” he whispered in Kumbraec. “ _I could kill him right now, and end all of the troubles that have plagued my people. Nobody would ever know._ ”

“Merlin,” Gaius admonished. _"Look at Arthur_.” Sullenly, he glanced over, watching Arthur sit despondently. “ _Think of what it would do to him if you killed his father._ ”

 “ _You’re right_ _,_ ” Merlin replied softly, after a long pause. “ _Hate only begets hate._ ” He knelt at Uther’s side, holding a finger on the chieftain’s wrist.

 “I need incense, wormwood, and a pitcher of water,” Merlin instructed, Gaius hurrying off to fetch the materials. “Arthur, step back.”

 “You can’t tell me what to do!” snapped Arthur. “He’s my father, and I am still technically your master. I will not have-”

 “Step back, _sire_ ,” Merlin said, turning his cerulean gaze towards Arthur. Raw power ebbed dangerously in his eyes, threatening serious danger if he was not obeyed. Instead of fear, Arthur could only feel awe. _This is why he is Emrys_ , he thought.

Gaius arrived with Merlin’s ingredients, setting them around the bed. Merlin washed Uther’s hands, then his own, muttering quickly in Kumbraec and a language Arthur could not identify. He lit the incense and wafted it over Uther’s chest, continuing to chant. He grew louder, and his words shifted to a different tongue, one that reverberated through the room and into the very roots of Arthur’s soul. His blue irises burned gold, and as Arthur watched, the exposed wound on Uther’s gut began to knit closed. But just as his hopes began to soar, Uther gasped, and a bruise blossomed across his abdomen.

“He’s bleeding inside!” Cried Gaius, rushing towards the bedside and reaching into his satchel. Merlin stood frozen.

“ _E peth_?” He whispered. “This shouldn’t be happening. This can’t be happening!”

“Merlin, hand me the wormwood,” Gaius snapped, bending over Uther’s prone figure. However, Merlin was rooted the spot, face aghast. “Merlin!” The young man snapped into action, but Uther began to shake violently, limbs flailing about and narrowly missing the old healer.

“Hold him down!” Gaius commanded, and Arthur threw his weight onto Uther’s legs. Despite his age, his father was strong, and Arthur was forced to devote his entire attention to the task. Merlin began to chant frantically, eyes gold, while Gaius forced a stick between Uther’s teeth and attempted to administer herbs. With one last writhing motion, Uther splayed back on the bed, a rattling breath escaping his lips. He did not inhale again.

The trio stared down at the Uther’s lifeless body, varying degrees of shock on their faces. Arthur lifted himself off the bed, kneeling at its side. He reached for Uther’s hand, which was quickly growing cold.

“Forgive me, Father,” he whispered. “All those things I said to you…” A sob escaped his throat. “I know now, all you wanted was to protect me.” Arthur raised his father’s hand to his face, pressing the palm against his cheek. Already, it was starting to grow cold. “Forgive me,” he begged, voice cracking. “Please, Father, won’t you say you forgive me?” Uther’s corpse stared wide-eyed at the ceiling, unaware of the tears that flowed down his son’s face. Distraught, Arthur turned around, but saw only Gaius, the only sounds his ragged breathing and the sharp slap of feet on a dirt floor.

Arthur ran out into the hallway, squinting in the dim lamplight. He spotted a small lump huddled in a nearby doorway, and quickly approached it. It was Merlin, face hidden behind his arms, lanky frame wracked with sobs. He raised his head at the sound of footsteps, tears making tracks over his angular cheekbones.

“It’s my fault,” he whispered. “I should’ve known Agravain would try this, I could’ve st-stopped him. I wasn’t fast enough, I could’ve -” His tirade cut off as Arthur sat next to him, a sigh escaping his lungs.

“I don’t blame you,” replied Arthur softly, staring at the wall in front of him. “You and Gaius did everything you could. There was no way you could’ve known Agravain would send an assassin.”

“I f-felt something was wrong, when we rode to C-Camelot,” Merlin sniffed, “but I didn’t want to tell you, because I was s-still mad at you. And now Uther’s dead!” He slammed a fist against the dirt floor, sending a cloud of dust in the air.

“Maybe it’s for the best,” continued Arthur. “The people weren’t happy with the ban on Druids, with the war. Too many good men and women died for my father. Besides, can you imagine if he’d woken up and found that he’d been healed by magic?”

Merlin barked a short laugh, turning to look at Arthur for the first time since he’d sat down. “He’d be furious with you,” he said, voice cracking slightly. “ ‘D probably try to kill you. And me.”

“Like I’d let that happen,” said Arthur gently, placing his arm around Merlin’s shoulders.

“I’m more than capable of protecting myself,” protested Merlin, but he reached up for Arthur’s hand. Wiping away his tears with the heel of his hand, he leaned his head on Arthur’s shoulder and cleared his throat. “What are you going to do now?”

Arthur rested his head on top of Merlin’s, breathing in his smell. “Camelot needs to hold an election, so we can find a new chieftain.”

“What about you? Are you going to become the next Penndraig?” Merlin murmured.

“If the people want it,” Arthur replied. “Whether I want to doesn’t matter.”

“Yes it does,” protested Merlin. “You deserve to be happy, not burdened by the responsibilities of leadership.”

“Who’s going to lead, then, if not me?” Asked Arthur. “Morgana’s gone, and while Llywarch’s a good man, he’s not chieftain material. Esus forbid, _Gawain_ could win. Can you imagine? Nothing but mead and pretty girls everywhere.” Merlin chuckled again slightly. He shifted slightly in order to get up, but was stopped by a hand on his arm.

“Stay with me,” Arthur pleaded, his face open and vulnerable. For so long, he had locked away any feeling he experienced, but his father’s death had unleashed a violent torrent of emotion. He felt as though he had been cast into a river, helpless against the currents of life. Merlin nodded silently, sitting back down and drawing Arthur’s arm back across his shoulders. Not long after, he began to doze against Arthur’s shoulder, his presence warm and reassuring to the young warrior.

Arthur had no idea how long he and Merlin sat on the cold floor together, silently sharing in their grief. As he watched Merlin’s sleeping face, a thought occurred to him.

“Merlin?” He asked. The druid grunted sleepily in response. “If your name is Merlin, why does everybody call you Emrys?”

“ ‘S a title,” Merlin muttered. “Means ‘immortal’. Once every generation, a child born with magic inherits the title and learns the ways of battle magic. That way Emrys can always protect the Lugi.”

“But then how come I’d never heard of any Emrys before the war?”

“Because the Lugi didn’t fight with your people,” Merlin said. “C’n I go back to sleep now? ‘M exhausted.”

Arthur absentmindedly ran his hands through Merlin’s hair. “Of course,” he replied. “I’m sure that you must be.” To his own surprise, he felt exhaustion setting in as well. _Of course_ , he thought. _You were shot in the hand and just watched your father die. He leaned back against the wall, closing his eyes. A few days ago, I would have felt completely alone_. Merlin’s breath ghosted across Arthur’s neck as the young druid slept, tickling but reassuring. But now, I feel like I am whole for the first time. Arthur drifted off to sleep against the wall, Merlin curled at his side.

What felt like mere minutes later, a sudden shadow across Arthur’s vision caused him to wake with a start. His back and neck were stiff, and his hand throbbed. He looked up blearily at the man standing before him and Merlin.

“Arthur, you have visitors,” Gaius said carefully. “They’re in the council chamber.” He avoided any mention of their closeness or tear-stained faces, stepping aside as Arthur and Merlin got to their feet.

“Let’s go then, Merlin,” yawned Arthur, swiping a sleeve across his face. He set his shoulders and jaw, then strode off down the hall. Merlin followed, reaching out for Arthur’s hand.

“Don’t,” said Arthur softly. “We don’t know who it is yet.” Nodding his understanding, Merlin withdrew his hand, but continued down the hallway side by side with Arthur. Together, they emerged into the chamber, Arthur doing his best to look regal as he pushed open the door.

Inside stood a young man and a woman, both with dark skin and black curly hair. However, where the woman was petite, the man was tall, but they both stood straight and proud, fire burning in their eyes. The woman stepped forward, inclining her head towards Arthur.

“My name is Gwenhwyfar,” she said, her voice light but strong, “and this is my brother Einion. Our father heard about the planned Belgae assault on Camelot, and we were sent to ask Penn Uther if he required extra troops.” Arthur nodded, still slightly in shock.

“Uther is dead,” he said hollowly. “He was killed by an assassin last evening.” Gwen placed a hand to her mouth.

“I’m so sorry,” she whispered. “We hadn’t heard-”

“It’s all right,” Arthur said tiredly. “An emergency election is going to be held as soon as we can gather everyone.” He turned to Merlin.

“Go get Gaius,” he said, “and tell him to gather everybody for an election.” Merlin nodded, then sped off through the door, nearly running into Llywarch on the way. The warrior nodded at Arthur.

“Sire, the council has decided that until a new chieftain can be elected, you will serve as Penndraig.” He turned to leave, but noticed Gwen and Einion standing nearby.

“Forgive me,” he said, bowing deeply. “I hadn’t realized that we had visitors. My name is Llywarch; I am one of Camelot’s warriors.” Gwen flushed slightly.

“A pleasure to meet you, Llywarch,” she said, grinning. “My name is Gwenhwyfar, and this is my brother Einion. We come as emissaries for our father, Chieftain Tomos.” Llywarch grinned back.

“They say that the Silures are like people carved from ebony,” he said softly. “You don’t strike me as ebony though. More like a beautiful willow tree.” Gwen blushed even harder, eyes downcast but merry. Even from where he was standing, Arthur could feel the heat between the two. Based on Einion’s murderous glare, he probably could as well.

“Llywarch,” Arthur said, amused, “Gwenhwyfar and I are to be married.” Llywarch withdrew his hand hastily, apologizing profusely.

“I’m so sorry, Arthur, I would have never-”

“Llywarch, it’s all right. You may go about your business.” The older man exited in a hurry, red creeping up his neck.

“Arthur, a word?” Gwen asked, drawing Arthur aside.

“I understand completely if you have no interest in marrying me,” she said softly. “However, I suggest that we still go through with this, even if it’s just for the sake of an alliance.”

“So even if we - if we both love another,” Arthur replied, “you still want this? There’s no shame if you say no.” He glanced pointedly at the door where Llywarch had just exited. “Just take some time to think about it, all right? I know I’m very hesitant to agree to this.” As if on cue, Merlin arrived in the doorway, slightly out of breath and grinning.

“Everybody’s waiting for you, Arthur,” he said, walking over to grab his hand. Arthur swallowed hard, squeezing Merlin’s hand as he exited the fortification.

 

-M-

 

The denizens of Camelot had gathered around the fortress, talking amongst themselves. Here and there, a few stepped forward to announce their candidacy for chieftain. Among them was Annys, a stern widow who had a heart harder than any iron forged in Camelot. She had long made public her opposition to Uther’s ideals after her husband died in his crusade, but having never committed any crime against him, she was left to her own devices. Arthur did not foresee an easy victory against her.

Gaius thumped a staff on the floor. “The gathering will now come to order,” he called. “Let all those who wish to present themselves for the chieftaincy step forward.” Arthur disentangled his hand from Merlin’s, giving him one last squeeze.

“I, Arthur Pendeuic, present myself for the chieftaincy,” he called, sounding braver than he felt. There were a few murmurs, but nobody seemed surprised. As he watched, Annys stepped forward.

“I, Annys of Camelot, present myself for the chieftaincy,” she proclaimed in a ringing voice. Once more, nobody seemed astonished. Out of the corner of his eye, Arthur could see Merlin glowering at Annys. He smirked slightly. At least Merlin was on his side if things went awry.

“Are there any others who would wish to become chieftain?” Gaius called, but nobody stepped forward. Nobody wanted to face the wrath of Arthur, or Annys, and were content to let the two battle their differences out.

“Very well,” Gaius said. “Those who wish to become chieftain will address the gathering. Annys will go first.”

Annys stepped forward, tossing her strawberry-blonde hair back. “Long has Camelot been under threat from the Lugi,” she called, her voice strong. Murmurs of assent rippled through the crowd. “Uther’s war cost us many lives, including that of my husband, Caerllew.” She paused for effect. “However, the Lugi are weak. Emrys has not been seen in months, and once our armies have defeated the Belgae, we can exterminate the Lugi from the face of the earth!” Murmurs of agreement grew louder as Merlin’s face darkened. Silently, Arthur willed him to stay back, and he did, jaw clenched.

“If we allow these enemies into our lands, into our homes,” Annys continued, looking pointedly at Arthur, “then we invite destruction upon Camelot! We must take action, and swiftly. Our men are already prepared for war, so let them have it!”

Cheers began to sporadically erupt amongst the crowd, but as they rose, Arthur’s stomach fell. It did not bode well that the people of Camelot were so restless. He would have to be persuasive. Annys stepped back, flashing a smug look Arthur’s way as he stepped forward. He cleared his throat, hoping that he looked impressive. Merlin grinned encouragingly at him, then mouthed a few words. His eyes flashed gold, and a ray of sunlight broke through the clouds and landed on Arthur’s head, illuminating him. This silenced any lingering dissent, and a hush fell through the crowd.

“People of Camelot,” he began, “I know that in standing before you, you may see my father. However, he is no longer here. I do not deny that his actions have caused strife for our tribe, nor that he has cost many their lives, or the lives of their loved ones.” He returned Annys’s gaze coolly.  

“The Lugi are no longer a threat to us,” Arthur continued, glancing at Merlin, who nodded. “I have forged an alliance with their chieftain, on the condition that the Old Religion be re-instituted within Camelot.” Shocked gasps ran through the crowd. “All citizens will be free to practice the religion of their choice, provided it does not clash with the laws of Camelot. Those that wish to become druids or priests will be given relevant training.” He raised his arms as chaos broke out.

“But none of this matters if we are overrun,” Arthur shouted over the din. “The Belgae are nearing our border, and marching fast. Not only do we have the Lugi - and Emrys - at our side, the Silures have promised us aid against a common threat. The Belgae know nothing of our ways, our culture, our pride. They think we can be overrun by their brute force, but they do not know the true strength of the Dragon!” He lifted Excalibur into the air, leading a cheer. Annys looked on sourly as whoops and hollers drifted into the overcast sky. It took Gaius several minutes to calm down the assembly.

“Very well,” he called. “Let the votes be cast. All those in favor of Annys, cast your stone to the left. For Arthur, to the right.” The population filed past Gaius, each dropping their stone in one spot or the other. Arthur watched, heart in his mouth, as the piles grew. When the last stone had been cast, the piles were disappointingly close in size. Gaius, who had been counting, glanced skyward, mouthing numbers. He then stepped forward, raising his staff in the air.

“The people have elected Arthur as their new chieftain!” He proclaimed, with audible relief. Arthur sighed, weight falling from his chest, as Merlin whooped. Running over, the gangly young man embraced Arthur tightly, planting a quick kiss on his lips.

“I knew you could do it, mu carat,” he whispered, resting his chin on Arthur’s shoulder.

“Of course I could, you clotpole,” Arthur whispered back, grinning. “How could you have so little faith in me? I’m Arthur Pendeuic.” 

“No, you’re not, prat. You’re Arthur Penndraig,” Merlin replied, pulling back from the hug. Around them, the members of the tribe were chanting, “Penndraig! Penndraig!” yelling their approval. Gaius was smiling warmly, and Gwen, who had come out to hear the announcement, clapped, a huge smile on her face. Suddenly, Arthur felt his arms and legs being grabbed as Llew, Peredur, Llywarch, and Gawain hoisted him into the air.

“Long live Arthur Penndraig!” they called, parading him amongst the people. “Long live the chieftain!”

Arthur smiled, adding in a few cheers of his own, but his mind raced even faster than his heart. He had responsibilities now, and a duty to his people that until now he had avoided. With the Belgae only a few days away, he would need to create an army - one united not just in purpose, but in heart. If there was strife between factions, they would be easy pickings for the Belgae, Emrys or no. He gestured for the warriors to let him down, stepping back to address the crowd.

“There will be a bonfire held tonight in celebration,” he called. “All are invited. None shall go hungry!” He was met with a roar of approval, but turned away and walked back into the fortress, doors blocking out the noise.

Arthur stood in the council chamber, looking at his father’s seat. My own seat now, he reminded himself, but still, he could not bring himself to sit in the ornately carved chair. It had always been Uther’s chair, whether Arthur was playing at its side as a child, or standing beside it as a council member. Suddenly, Arthur found himself missing his father, a deep ache that twisted his gut and prickled his eyes with tears. Despite his harsh behavior and icy resolve, Uther had always loved his children, and Arthur his father. Whenever he led a successful attack, or brought down a bear that was terrorizing Camelot, Uther’s proud expression warmed Arthur’s heart like nothing else ever had. That was, until Merlin.

Could he really bring himself to go through with his marriage to Gwenhwyfar? In two short weeks, Merlin had become Arthur’s entire world. He knew that if he did marry Gwen, but remained with Merlin, she would have the right to divorce him and take part of his lands. As chieftain, the consequences for Camelot could be disastrous. Who knew what the Silures would take, given the opportunity?

Arthur’s thoughts were driven out of order as Merlin entered, followed by Peredur and Llew. Between them, they dragged the skinny assassin. Arthur was struck by how similar the situation was to when he had first met Merlin, but this time, he would not be merciful.

“We’ve caught the assassin, sire,” said Llew. “You’re free to do with him what you wish.”

“Step back,” commanded Arthur, drawing Excalibur. “Ask him who he was sent by,” he asked Merlin.

“ _Puw a dannvest?_ ” Merlin said, iron in his voice. The assassin said nothing, staring at the floor. Arthur grabbed him by the hair, laying Excalibur across his throat.

“Tell me,” he said, voice low, “or I will slit your throat.” Still, the Lugi said nothing, eyes defiant.

“ _E lavro!_ ” urged Merlin. “ _Ev ti ledh!_ ” The assassin remained silent, a smirk twisting his thin lips. With a frustrated cry, Arthur slashed Excalibur across his throat, stepping back to avoid the spurting blood. As he watched the crimson puddle sink into the packed earth floor, Arthur thrust his sword into the ground. Peredur and Llew made the joint decision to exit before Arthur’s wrath turned on them, dragging the assassin’s body away between them.

“Agravain is behind this,” he said flatly, not even bothering to ask. “But without evidence, we cannot condemn him.”

“Leave that to me,” Merlin promised. “I’ll talk to my father. He knows Agravain hates the Dragon People, it won’t take much to convince him, especially after you’ve held up your end of the deal.”

“Alright,” Arthur sighed, running his fingers through his hair. “Just - be careful, Merlin. Agravain has already proven himself dangerous. He could be the reason you d-” the word stuck in his throat.

“Die?” Laughed Merlin. “Don’t be silly, Arthur. I’m Emrys, Agravain wouldn’t dare lay a finger on me. The whole tribe would rip him to shreds.” He stepped closer to Arthur, placing a hand on his shoulder. “As long as I have you, nothing else matters,” he whispered. “Golden Age be damned, you’re all I need.”

“I never took you for the sentimental type, especially when we met,” Arthur teased, trying to avoid any unnecessary mushiness. “Which reminds me.” He placed his hands on Merlin’s shoulders and pressed down, forcing him to his knees.

“All you had to do was ask,” said Merlin cheekily, eyes sparkling with mirth, “but if you insist…” Before he could do anything, Arthur drew Excalibur out of the floor and tapped him lightly on the shoulders with it.

“Merlin of the Lugi, you are officially released from your servitude to me,” Arthur said, eyes soft. “You are now a free man.”

“About time you did that,” remarked Merlin, standing up. “I was starting to worry that I’d never get rid of the rope burns on my neck.” Arthur pushed his shoulder, nearly sending the Lugi flying.

“Go and talk to your father before I change my mind,” he said, but still smiled. Merlin grinned back, blowing Arthur a kiss as he jogged out the doorway once more.

Arthur paced up and down the room as he waited for Merlin, still eyeing his father’s chair. The room felt empty without his presence, the vast space void of his council. Uther had always made his council members stand, which Arthur thought a little unfair, especially to the elderly Gaius. He left the council chamber and made his way to the old healer’s hut, gagging slightly at the smell.

“Arthur - I mean, my lord,” Gaius said, getting to his feet. “To what do I owe the pleasure?”

“Gaius, you were one of my father’s most trusted advisors,” Arthur replied solemnly. “I would be honored if you would consider taking up your position once more.”

“The honor would be mine,” Gaius said, placing a hand on Arthur’s shoulder. “You’ve grown into a wise young man. I think Camelot will be greatly improved under your command.”

“Thank you, Gaius,” Arthur said, turning to leave. “Oh, and one more thing - who’s the best carpenter in Camelot?”

“That would be Cadoc, my lord,” Gaius replied, arching an eyebrow. “May I enquire as to why you are in need of his services?”

“I’m in need of a table,” Arthur called back over his shoulder. “A big one. And round. Tell him to come to the council chambers whenever he has time.” 

“Very well,” said Gaius, as much to himself as to Arthur. “A round table,” he muttered. “Whatever will he think of next?”

Walking back from Gaius’s hut, Arthur spied Gawain practically wrapped around a young woman. He cleared his throat pointedly, relishing the couple’s startled jumps. Gawain turned to face Arthur, grinning like a madman.

“Meet me in the council chamber in an hour,” Arthur called, rolling his eyes. “Tell the others - and don’t bring her.” He gestured to Gawain’s lover, now flushed bright red. “Or any mead,” he added as an afterthought. “In fact, it’s probably best if you don’t bring your sword either. And do actually show up, this is important. Oh, and bring Einion too.”

“Will do!” yelled Gawain at Arthur’s retreating figure. “Now,” he smirked, turning back to his female companion, “where were we?”

To Arthur’s surprise, when he arrived back at the council chamber an hour later, all four of his men were waiting there for him, as well as Einion. Gawain smirked triumphantly at Arthur.

“Bet you thought I’d forget, didn’t you?” He gloated. Llew rolled his eyes.

“I overheard you tell Gawain to meet here. He did forget, and I had to practically peel him off his lady friend so he would be here on time.”

Gawain elbowed Llew in the ribs and shot him a surly glare. “So why are we here, anyway?” He asked, changing the subject.

“I’m glad you asked,” answered Arthur, striding to the center of the room. “As you know, I’m in need of a council, now that I’m Penndraig.”

“Don’t get too uppity about it,” stage-whispered Peredur, earning a snort from Gawain and Einion.

“Anyway,” continued Arthur, ignoring the brawny warrior’s comment, “I have decided to keep a few select members of my father’s council, but I have several spots open. I’d like you all to fill them.”

He began to walk past where each man stood, addressing them one by one.

“Llew,” Arthur began. “You have the most experience as a warrior. Not only are you brave, but you don’t let your heart rule your head.” Llew dipped his head, smiling modestly.

“I hope that I’m the man for the job,” he replied.

“Of course you are,” said Arthur, slapping him on the back. Next, he turned to the muscular man beside Llew. “Peredur, you’re the strongest man I’ve ever met, but you’re also a family man, well-connected to the people. Your advice would be invaluable.”

“I’m happy to serve, Arthur,” Peredur replied, crossing his arms.

Arthur continued down the line. “Llywarch, you have proved yourself time and time again to me. You may not be the Penndraig, but you have the bearing of one, and your diplomatic skill knows no bounds.”

Llywarch inclined his head. “I do my best,” he said softly.

“Einion,” Arthur said. “I’ve seen the way you are loyal to your sister, and I’ve heard of your prowess in combat. A connection between our tribes certainly wouldn’t hurt. I hope that you’ll accept; I could use your help.” The young man nodded silently, placing his hand on Arthur’s shoulder.

“I would be honored, Penndraig,” he said, staring him in the eye. Arthur nodded in acknowledgment, reaching the end of the line.

“And finally, Gawain.” Arthur shook his friend by the shoulder. “You’ve been my friend for many years, and there’s not many men I trust more than you. I can always count on you to let me know if something’s wrong, as long as you’re awake.” The men laughed.

“I promised you I’d never leave your side,” Gawain said. “I don’t intend to break that promise any time soon.”

Arthur stepped back, surveying the gathering of men. “Thank you all for joining me,” he said. “Camelot will need good people if we are to survive these times, and I can’t think of better men to lead our tribe.”

“Nor I a better Penndraig,” added Llywarch. The rest of the men nodded in agreement.

“Cadoc will be here soon to take measurements for a new table,” Arthur said, fidgeting slightly at the praise. “This will be a special table, the likes of which Camelot has never seen.”

“Why’s that?” wondered Peredur. 

“Because,” said Arthur, grinning, “It’s going to be round. There will be no person higher than the other, so all may be heard with equal measure.”

“To the round table,” Llew proclaimed, unsheathing his sword and pointing it in the air.

“To the round table,” the others chorused, adding in their swords.

“Gawain, I thought I told you not to bring yours,” said Arthur, glaring at the warrior. 

“I feel naked without it,” Gawain protested.

“Gawain,” Arthur forced through gritted teeth, “you fight naked.”

“You know what I mean,” the warrior replied breezily. He was saved from a slap upside the head by Merlin’s entrance.

“Arthur, you’ll want to come see this,” he said breathlessly. “My father has captured Agravain, and is holding him. He awaits your punishment.”

Arthur followed Merlin out into the center clearing, where Balinor and his men stood. Agravain was held between two men, disheveled but defiant.

“ _Peth iw y hister e hunn?_ ” He cried, struggling in their grasp. “ _Edh oov digardh_ _!_ ”

“Tell him we found evidence of his involvement with the assassin,” Arthur murmured to Merlin.

“But we - oh, you’re bluffing,” observed Merlin.

“Quite right, Merlin. But don’t let on,” said Arthur, keeping his face carefully blank. Merlin translated for Agravain, whose already pale face drained completely of color.

“ _Is anwrethediw!_ ” He gasped. “ _E troes courous, nag -_ ” Merlin cut him off with a raised hand.

Agravain turned to Balinor, his tone oily. “ _Mi Penn, paned credoen hinn celwidhon?_ ” Balinor said nothing.

“Enough, Agravain,” Arthur commanded, Merlin translating for him. “You have admitted your guilt in my father’s death. The punishment for murdering a chieftain is execution.” Agravain began to plead again, but Arthur ignored him. He reached for his sword, but Merlin stopped him.

“Let me,” he said. “He is a traitor to his own people. I will deal with him.” He turned to look at Agravain, raising his hand to chest level.

“ _Bebod thé arisan cwicum_ ," Merlin spoke, eyes flashing gold. Arthur watched in amazement as Agravain’s arm bracelet uncoiled, the bronze snake coming to life and rearing its head. Agravain had no choice but to watch as it crawled up his chest and sank its fangs into his neck. He screamed in pain as the snake bit down, its emerald eyes glowing. His captors released him in disgust as he began to froth at the mouth, the snake’s venom circulating through his body. The treacherous Lugi fell to the ground with a dull thud, glazed eyes staring up at Arthur with horror as the life left his body.

“He lived as a snake, and so it is fitting that he die by the hands of one,” said Merlin, spitting on the floor next to Agravain’s body. “Don’t bother burying him, he doesn’t deserve it.”

Arthur sheathed his sword, turning away from the corpse. “My father’s funeral will be held at dusk,” he said. “Any who wish to bear witness are welcome.” He walked away from Agravain’s body, neither him nor Merlin sparing it a second glance.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Eryodhet tra'chean, lavri gant Utherix. - Stay back, he is going to talk with King Uther.  
> E peth? - What?  
> Puw a dannvest? - Who sent you?  
> E lavro! Ev ti ledh! - Talk! He will kill you!  
> Mu carat- my love  
> Peth iw y hister e hunn? Edh oov digardh! - What is the meaning of this? I'm innocent!  
> Is anwrethediw! E troes courous, nag - Impossible! I was careful, no way-  
> Mi Penn, paned credoen hinn celwidhon? - My chieftain, surely you don't believe these lies?


	6. In Which a Chapter is Deliberately Cut Short for Cliffhanger Purposes

Arthur arrived in his father’s chamber, where Uther was laid out on his bed. He had been washed and wrapped in a death shirt, and lay on a litter. Gaius had placed a bowl of coins on his chest, as was custom, and placed candles around him. Arthur brushed a stray hair away from Uther’s forehead, gazing down at his father one last time. 

 

“You can bring the  _ fe _ in now, Gaius,” he said, closing his eyes. It was bad luck to gaze upon a druid’s death staff, for any who saw it other than the druid were fated to die. Arthur lowered his head as he heard Gaius shuffle in, placing the stick alongside Uther to measure him. Gaius whispered a few words to Uther, to guide his spirit towards the afterlife. As a murder victim, his soul would require special care, and may become lost. Arthur sincerely hoped his father would find rest, and maybe, his beloved Ygrain.

 

“It’s alright to look now, Arthur,” Gaius said. “It’s time to take Uther outside.”

 

“You’re the only one that knows the ritual, Gaius,” Arthur replied. “You tell us what to do next.” 

 

“Well,” said Gaius thoughtfully, “Uther should have been left to rest for three days, but with the attack of the Belgae…”  There might not be anybody left to bury him , he left unsaid. 

 

“Hopefully he can still make his way to the afterlife,” replied Arthur. He gestured to where his men were waiting outside, and with their assistance, lifted Uther’s litter onto their shoulders. Merlin, having returned from disposing of Agravain, fell in step next to him, for once completely silent. Outside the fortress, a pyre awaited Uther, jars of honey and oil stacked around it. Solemnly, Arthur and his men bore Uther towards the wood pile, placing him gently on top of it. To his surprise, a small crowd had formed to send off their former chieftain. Among them was Annys, stoic as ever.

 

Gaius gestured to a young man, who brought forth Uther’s horse. Wrinkling his nose, he slit its throat, stepping away to avoid its death throes. Arthur and Llew dragged its corpse next to the pyre, so that it could serve Uther in the afterlife. Likewise, three of his hunting dogs were slaughtered, their blood staining the grass red. Lighting a torch, Gaius passed it to Arthur, who threw it onto the pyre. His men followed suit, then the rest of the onlookers tossed fat and oil to aid in the burning. An acrid stench of burning hair filled Arthur’s nostrils as smoke began to drift towards the sky. A few women began to wail in mourning. Annys was not among them.

 

“Uther,” called Gaius, raising his arms to the sky, “we send you now to the afterlife, where you will remain in peace. When your spirit returns to us, may it be blessed and find happiness.” He stepped back, allowing the smoke to continue to rise towards the setting sun.

 

To his surprise, Arthur’s eyes were dry, and his throat relaxed.  The time for tears is over , he thought to himself.  Father is gone, and I must make him proud . Watching the smoke wafting away, he slipped his hand into Merlin’s. The Lugi squeezed his hand reassuringly, silently communicating his support. They stood together until the sun had set and the pyre had reduced to a few glowing embers. The onlookers began to silently file away, a few stopping to express their sympathies to Arthur. After the last people had given their condolences, Annys stepped towards Arthur. 

 

“Uther deserved a better death,” she said quietly, locking eyes with Arthur. “I may not have agreed with him, but he was a mighty chieftain in his own right. I hope he finds peace.”

 

“Thank you, Annys,” Arthur replied, inclining his head slightly. “A seat on my council remains open for you, should you wish to take it.” She nodded, respect in her eyes. 

 

“You are not the man your father was,” Annys observed. “Perhaps the Dragon Tribe will thrive after all.” She strode away, hair whipping in the smoky air.

 

Gaius began to douse the remaining embers in wine, gesturing for Arthur to come help. Arthur moved to assist him, still grasping Merlin’s hand, but the druid stopped him in his tracks.

 

“I don’t think your father would’ve wanted me to do anything,” he said softly. “Me being a Lugi and all.”

 

“I understand,” Arthur replied, letting go of Merlin’s hand. He nodded once, then moved to where Gaius was gathering Uther’s bones in a golden urn. 

 

“We’ll place Uther’s bones in the burial mound with his weapons,” the old healer said. “He’ll need them in the afterlife.” His eyes flicked to where Excalibur lay sheathed at Arthur’s side.

 

“Do you think - ?” Arthur began, gesturing to the sword, but Gaius stopped him.

 

“Not yet,” he said. “We will need Uther’s strength beside us in order to vanquish the Belgae. Perhaps later.” 

 

“Whatever you think is best, Gaius,” replied Arthur, lifting a pile of weapons into his arms. Together, they walked towards the prepared mound where Uther was to be interred, far away from the outskirts of Camelot. Gaius placed the urn in the center of the grave, taking the weapons one by one from Arthur and arranging them around the middle. He also laid Uther’s brooches and torc inside, along with the horse and dog bones. Arthur helped him cover the grave with dirt, replacing the sod on top. When they stepped back, the moon was full in the sky, illuminating the grass with pale light. 

 

“Well done, Arthur,” Gaius said tiredly. “Go get some rest, you’ll need it.”

 

“You too, Gaius,” replied Arthur, offering his arm for the aged man to use as support. “We will find ourselves in need of your services soon.” Together, the pair walked back to where Merlin was waiting for them. Merlin whispered a few words, and a bright ball of light appeared in his hands to illuminate the way. After dropping Gaius off at his hut, Arthur and Merlin continued back to the fortress. The settlement was quiet, dark except for the fires that flickered in people’s hearths and outside the Lugi camps. The halls of Camelot’s stronghold were eerily silent as its protectors slept, gathering their strength for the coming days of battle.

 

“You know,” Merlin mused as they entered Arthur’s room, “we never did figure out where I was supposed to be sleeping.”

 

“ _ Mer _ lin, we spent a night tied together at the wrist, I would assume you don’t mind spending the night here,” Arthur replied, pulling off his boots. Merlin sat next to him, copying the process. Arthur reached to undo the laces on his tunic, but was stopped by Merlin.

 

“Let me,” he said in a low voice. Arthur watched, fascinated, as Merlin’s lithe fingers made quick work of the lacing and slipped the shirt over his head. Arthur grasped the long fingers in his hands, bringing them up to kiss each one reverently.

 

“I thought you were an artist when we first met,” he said softly. “There was no way you could have been a warrior with hands like these.” He placed one of his own hands against Merlin’s. His was the complete opposite: rough with calluses, squat and strong, with short, rectangular fingernails. Merlin pulled his hand away, trailing it down Arthur’s exposed chest. He traced lightly over the spiral tattoos on Arthur’s collarbone, causing Arthur to shiver. Merlin grinned devilishly at the reaction, continuing to draw spirals across Arthur’s chest. Eventually, Arthur could bear Merlin’s toying no more, and pulled him in for a kiss. They were slow at first, but gradually became more passionate, the room silent except for their now-ragged breathing.

 

“It’s about time,” Merlin muttered into Arthur’s mouth.

 

“Shut up, Merlin,” Arthur replied, pushing him down onto the bed.

 

-M-

 

Arthur awoke the next morning to find Merlin’s head pillowed on his chest, sunlight streaming in from the smoke hole in his roof. Merlin grumbled at Arthur’s movement, eyes still screwed shut, and wrapped his arms around Arthur’s torso.

 

“Rise and shine,” Arthur singsonged, imitating Merlin’s accent and extracting himself from Merlin’s arms. Merlin muttered something rude in Kumbraec, burying his head in the straw mattress. 

 

“I thought you were a morning person,” teased Arthur, gently prodding Merlin in the ribs.

 

“Well I would be if I wasn’t up until some ungodly hour,” Merlin groused, sitting up.

 

“Now whose fault is that? You woke me up.  Twice .”

 

“Oh, shut up, you prat,” Merlin groaned, running his fingers through his hair.

 

“You can’t call me prat, I’m the chieftain now!” replied Arthur indignantly.

 

“Alright,” sighed Merlin. “Shut up, you  _ chief _ prat.”

 

Arthur lifted his eyes skyward. “I should’ve had you executed long ago,” he sighed, but his eyes sparkled with mirth. Merlin grinned at him, slipping on his tunic and braccae. 

 

“Your new council meets for the first time today,” he said, lacing his boots up. “Best get up if you don’t want to be late.”

 

“Which reminds me,” Arthur observed. “You’re on the council too.”

 

“But-but what about the other members? The ones your father had?” Spluttered Merlin, aghast.

 

“They’re all a bunch of old fogies,” said Arthur, waving a hand nonchalantly. “And you’re much nicer to look at.” He stood up and walked over to a small table that stood nearby, grabbing a bowl of water and washing his face. 

 

“But your father-”

 

“I’m  _ not _ my father!” Arthur snapped, whirling around. The bowl he had been washing from crashed to the ground, shattering instantly and spraying water across the floor. “I’m different from him. I don’t have the worries he did.” Guiltily, he bent down and began gathering the shards of broken pottery.

 

“Arthur,” said Merlin in a low voice, “I think it’s fair to assume that Camavon is going to be the site of our next battle, wherever it may be, and there is every chance I am going to die there. Whatever happens, I need you to promise me you won’t harden your heart the same way Uther did.” He crouched down to meet Arthur’s eyes, pressing his hand over Arthur’s. “Promise me that. Please.”

 

“No,” Arthur replied stubbornly, “because you’re not going to die. I’m going to protect you.”

 

“Arthur, you’re the Penndraig now, your people need you. For once, use your brain instead of your heart. There can always be another Emrys,” Merlin pleaded.

 

“But there will never be another you,” replied Arthur, spontaneously pulling Merlin into an awkward embrace. 

 

“Of course not,” whispered Merlin, smiling into Arthur’s shoulder. “Now come on, I don’t want to be late.”

 

Arthur and Merlin entered the council chamber together, laughing and joking affectionately. The rest of the council was already present, standing formally around the main chair. Cadoc the carpenter was taking measurements of the room with a piece of string, muttering to himself all the while. Otherwise, the chamber was uncomfortably silent, prompting Arthur to clear his throat.

 

“So,” he began. “What are the latest reports from our scouts?”

 

“The Belgae have landed to the west, my lord,” replied Llywarch, spreading a map before Arthur. “Our most recent surveys suggest they are heading inland, instead of hugging the coast as they normally do. Nearly everyone in their path has either fled or been routed.”

 

“Morgana’s doing,” Arthur mused. “She knows that everybody expected an attack from the south. The west has been relatively quiet for a long time.”

 

“We also have reports of a small contingent of Belgae approaching from the south,” added Einion, pointing to the map. “However, they’re not even stopping to attack the smallest villages. They’re moving fast, even for Belgae. We think their plan is to intercept our reinforcements that my father might send, allowing the main force to attack Camelot without any hindrance.”

 

“Are the Belgae aware of our agreement with the Lugi?” Arthur asked, frowning. “They may bypass the Silures and attempt to cut us off from the north.”

 

“We don’t think so,” cut in Peredur. “The last thing Morgana saw of our diplomacy, we were in the middle of a bitter feud. And since all communication has been going to the north, there’s no way they could’ve intercepted them.”

 

“Merlin,” said Arthur, “is there any way Agravain could’ve had contact with Morgana or the Belgae after she was exiled?”

 

“No,” replied Merlin, shaking his head. “The last message we ever got from her was confirmation that Excalibur’s theft was to take place. I assume she thought we betrayed her as well.”

 

“Very well,” said Arthur, relaxing slightly. “The Lugi, and Merlin in particular, will be our secret weapon.”

 

“Why Merlin?” Butted in Gawain. “He’s practically a stick, I wouldn’t even trust him to swing a sword properly! No offense,” he muttered, earning a smile from the insulted party.

 

“Merlin, why don’t you show them?” Said a bemused Arthur, grinning.

 

“In here?” Merlin muttered, glancing around. “Are you sure?”

 

“Might as well,” replied Arthur. “Things could get awkward otherwise.”

 

Merlin sighed and walked to the center of the room. The warriors crowded among him, but Arthur pushed them back. As they watched, Merlin’s irises burned gold, and suddenly before them stood the aged Emrys, with a long white beard and wrinkled visage. Llew pulled out his sword, pushing Arthur behind him, and shouts of confusion rang out.

 

“It’s me, Merlin,” the old man sighed, making a face. “I know I’m not exactly a looker right now, but I didn’t think I was  _ that _ ugly.” With a few more words, his hair grew shorter and darker again, wrinkled brow smoothing, until Merlin stood before them again once more. Llywarch was the first to speak.

 

“Y-you’re Emrys?” he gasped. “But he’s been around since before you were born. How is that possible?”

 

“That was Alator, the chief priest before me. Emrys is more of a title than a person,” Merlin elaborated. 

 

“If you’re Emrys, how come we’re all not dead?” Piped up Gawain, rather sensibly crouched behind Arthur’s chair.

 

“Because you’re my friends, you loony,” replied Merlin, rolling his eyes. “Or at least my allies. Take your pick.”

 

“So Emrys is on our side?” asked Llew, still visibly shaken from what he had just witnessed. “How can we know for sure?” Peredur gave him a meaningful glare, elbowing him in the ribs. “Ah.”

 

“We can use Merlin’s powers to our advantage then,” pointed out Llew. “The Belgae have never used magic before, and neither have we. We can take them by surprise if we play our cards right.”

 

Arthur fidgeted slightly, then nodded. “Very well. We’ll force the Belgae into the Valley of Kings to bottleneck them. Einion, Gwen, we’ll need your people’s tactics to ambush them there. The druids will help thin out their numbers. The rest of the Lugi and the Dragons will force whoever’s left out onto the nearby floodplain and press them against the old riverbed. We’ll use our chariots to pick off stragglers. By then, their numbers should be thin enough that we can eliminate them. Are there any other ideas?”

 

Silence reigned in the council chamber, broken only when Cadoc began muttering to himself again. He quickly rolled up his string around his hand, oblivious to the eyes on him. The carpenter walked over to where Arthur was standing and gave a curt bow.

 

“I’ll begin work on your table as soon as I return home, my lord,” he said. “It should be done within two or three weeks.”

 

“Thank you, Cadoc,” Arthur replied. “Rest assured, you will be well compensated for your service. You are free to go about your business.” Cadoc bowed once more, then turned to exit. Arthur pushed his chair back, standing up.

 

“The council will break for now,” he proclaimed. “Gawain, lead one last reconnaissance expedition for the day, and we’ll prepare for battle. I will oversee the newest warriors’ training personally.” The rest of the council members nodded, then filed away for their respective duties. Arthur walked outdoors, Merlin at his side. In front of the fortress, Camelot’s newest warriors were lined up, trading blows with each other. As Gawain rode away, Arthur internally winced at how young some of them were.

 

“They can’t be more than fifteen,” Merlin whispered, echoing Arthur’s thoughts. “They shouldn’t be fighting.”

 

“I was at their age when I first fought,” Arthur replied. “But you’re right. Some of them shouldn’t be here. Fighting so young, it can scar you.”

 

“I remember my first battle,” Merlin said softly. “I was thirteen. Alator had just died, and the Lugi needed protection from Uther. The druids had been training me in battle magic for all my life, but nothing could’ve ever prepared me for the real fight. It was the first time I had ever cast an aging spell on myself, and I couldn’t maintain control over it and the rest of my powers simultaneously. I was so afraid, Arthur. My magic went out of control, and I killed forty people with a rockslide.”

 

Arthur remembered hearing about that battle from his father. He could picture a young Merlin, standing terrified in front of fallen enemies, tears running down his wrinkled cheek. When Arthur had been thirteen, he hadn’t been allowed to fight in battles, or go hunting on his own. He’d had everything he could’ve wanted, and more. Meanwhile, Merlin was forced to carry the burden of his entire tribe’s livelihood. How those skinny shoulders could have ever bore that immense weight, Arthur would never know. Once again, he was reminded that Merlin was far stronger than he let on.

 

“Don’t worry,” he said, placing an arm around Merlin as they watched the recruits train. “We’ll be fine.”

 

“Will we?” Merlin asked bluntly, looking Arthur straight in the eyes. His gaze was solemn, filled with a weariness and wisdom beyond his years.

 

“Of course,” replied Arthur, flicking a strand of hair out of Merlin’s face. “Now let’s teach you how to use a sword.” He pulled two wooden swords out of a nearby pile, tossing one to Merlin. “I assume you know the basics?” Merlin missed the sword entirely, the wooden blade smacking him on the arm. “I guess not.” 

 

“Do I really have to learn this?” Merlin whined. “I don’t need a sword.”

 

“Well, what if the Belgae can somehow get rid of your magic? Or somebody’s in the way?” Pointed out Arthur.

 

“Fine,” grumbled Merlin, “But I hope you get a splinter.”

 

Arthur flexed his hand, still bandaged from where the assassin had shot him. It remained sore and stiff, and his motion was still limited. Gritting his teeth, he flipped the sword into his hand, swinging it a few times experimentally. Pain shot up his arm, but it was nowhere near as bad as he expected. Standing across from Merlin, Arthur dropped into a crouch, sword in both hands.

 

“This is how you should hold your sword, since it’s going to be heavier in real life. We’re not going to bother with a shield for now,” he demonstrated. “Since it’s iron, it might bend occasionally, in which case you can usually straighten it out with your foot.” Merlin quirked an eyebrow, but adjusted his stance. 

 

“And  _ this _ is a basic swing,” Arthur said, taking a swipe at Merlin. The druid reflexively brought up his sword to block, but underestimated the force needed and tumbled to the ground with an “oof”.

 

“You’re not very good at this, are you,  Mer lin?” Arthur teased. Merlin groaned, holding his head, but quickly held up a hand and yelled, “ _ Astrice! _ ”

 

With a shout, Arthur went flying, landing on his back across from Merlin. He rolled over, the wind knocked out of him. 

 

“That’s....cheating... _ Mer _ lin!” He wheezed, pulling himself upright.

 

“You’ll be useless against any magic they might have,” Merlin chuckled. “Here, give me your torc.”

 

Arthur twisted the torc off his neck and brought it over to Merlin. “ _ Áscilde, _ ” he commanded, eyes flaring golden. Arthur’s torc took on a bluish glow before fading back to its dull gold.

 

“It should protect you against most spells now,” Merlin said, handing the torc back to Arthur. “I’m not sure how well it’ll hold up to normal weapons, though.”

 

“I think I’ll be alright, Merlin,” Arthur replied, placing the torc back around his neck. “Now let’s try that parry again.”

 

Arthur and Merlin went back and forth with their swords, Merlin slowly but surely gaining confidence. By the time the sun was nearing the horizon, Arthur was reasonably sure that Merlin wouldn’t accidentally impale himself should it come down to physical combat. However, he knew that Merlin would be remaining far from the actual fighting.

 

“Well, that was useful,” said Merlin, stretching languorously. “Just don’t make me come running to your rescue with one of those.”

 

“Oh yes, I’m sure the Belgae would quake in terror at the sight of a walking stick-man brandishing a wooden sword,” replied Arthur lazily. He looked up at the sky, noting the pink clouds scudding across the dusk.

 

“The scouts should’ve been back by now,” he remarked. “I hope there wasn’t any trouble.”

 

“You know Gawain,” Merlin joked. “He probably stopped for a leak, then got distracted by a tree that looked like it had breasts.”

 

Arthur rolled his eyes. “Be that as it may, I’d still like to see them back by now.” 

 

As soon as the words came out of his mouth, a black spot appeared out of the forest, rapidly resolving itself into the shape of a horse and rider. However, the man was clearly injured, slumped over the neck of his mount. Arthur’s stomach leapt into his mouth. It was Gawain. Bile rising in his throat, Arthur ran over to the panicked horse. Merlin patted it soothingly on the nose, eyes worried. Arthur caught Gawain as he practically fell off his horse, breath hitching at the sight of an arrow embedded in his friend’s back.

 

“Ar...thur,” Gawain gasped, blood trickling from his mouth and into his beard, “The Belgae...are...here. Just...a day...away...” He lapsed into a fit of coughing, blood spraying crimson into the air.

 

“Hush, Gawain,” Arthur soothed, cradling his friend’s head. “Don’t worry. We’re prepared.” The warrior reached up to grasp Arthur’s hand with surprising strength.

 

“Give those bastards...hell for me,” he wheezed. Arthur looked down at Gawain’s eyes, already starting to glaze, then back up to Merlin, who shook his head silently. 

 

“Nonsense, we’ll have Gaius patch you up,” Arthur said, but he knew that Gawain would be gone before they could find the old healer. Gawain chuckled slightly, blood erupting from his lips once more.

 

“And pour out some mead...for me...when I’m gone. I’ll see you again, Penndraig.” With his last promise, Gawain’s breath rattled out from his body, head flopping back limply. 

 

“Gawain?” whispered Arthur, shaking his dead friend’s shoulders. “Gawain?! Say something, dammit!” Merlin’s hand reached down to close Gawain’s eyes.

 

“He’s gone to his ancestors,” he said quietly, tears streaming down his face. “There was nothing we could’ve done.”

 

Arthur hugged Gawain tightly, heedless of the blood that stained his tunic. He thought of all the times they had spent together, from celebrating after a raid to training in the clearings.  _ Gawain taught me how to fight _ , he thought numbly.  _ Without him, I don’t know who I’d be _ . Arthur laid Gawain’s corpse tenderly on the ground, standing up wordlessly.

 

“We’re going to kill every last one of those bastards,” he vowed, his tone rock-steady. “Every. Last. One.”

 

Merlin nodded grimly, tears still on his face. “For Gawain,” he said, his resolve echoing Arthur’s.

 

“For Gawain," Echoed Arthur, staring into the sunset. Tomorrow would bring battle. Arthur hoped it would not be his last.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I do apologize for that.


	7. In Which There is a Big Epic Battle

The next morning dawned grey and ominous. Perhaps in anticipation of the bloodshed to come, the sun hid itself from sight, only occasionally breaking out to warm the earth below. Arthur stood at the walls of the fortress, Merlin by his side.

 

“Supposing we don’t make it-” began Merlin.

 

“Don’t even  _ think _ about going there, Merlin,” replied Arthur, cutting him off. “If all goes according to plan, then Emrys won’t even need to make an appearance.”

 

“Since when does everything go according to plan?” laughed Merlin bitterly. “With our luck, Camelot will be overrun before we can even say ‘Belgae’.”

 

“That’s the kind of thinking that will get you killed,” reprimanded Arthur. “Tell you what,” he said, expression softening. “If I promise not to die, will you stay alive for me?”

 

Merlin considered. “Seems fair,” he said, a smile starting to return to his face. “After all, it might be rather hard to track you down in the afterlife. You might be all wrinkly.”

 

“Well, don’t you be too eager to find out,” Arthur replied, nudging Merlin on the shoulder. “Come on, we need to saddle the horses and get you to the Valley of Kings.”

 

As Merlin saddled his horse, Arthur pulled on his ringmail tunic and buckled his sheath across it. Grabbing a pot of woad dye, he began to draw spirals across his cheek and exposed forearms. Having finished saddling his horse, Merlin stripped off his shirt and began to trace intricate patterns on his chest with the woad. 

 

“These lines help promote the flow of magic through a person,” he explained, “like how lightning strikes metal during a storm.”

 

“And they’ll help you fight?” asked Arthur, running his fingers over a small triskelion on Merlin’s forehead.

 

“Yes,” replied Merlin quietly, face grim. “I wish they didn’t though.”

 

“I know you don’t want to fight, Merlin,” Arthur soothed, patting his arm where the woad was dry. “But we don’t have much other choice. If we destroy the Belgae, we may never even have to fight again.”

 

“You’re right,” sighed Merlin. “Just one more battle. Let’s go.”

 

Arthur, Merlin, and the druids rode out to the valley, quiet except for the drumming of hoofbeats on the ground. A few druids peeled off to escort the Silures to their ambush point, and Ffraid and Gwilim turned away to protect the rest of the forces. As the remaining druids rode on, tree branches closed in overhead, blocking out the remainder of the sunlight, and the rocky ground began to slope upward. After an hour’s hard ride, they reached the edge of the valley. Tension hung thick in the air, and the forest was eerily still. Arthur, Merlin, and a few druids hid behind a large line of rocks that bordered the valley’s edge. From their hiding spot, they had a view of the valley below. Suddenly, the blast of a war horn cut through the valley, startling a flock of birds into flight. Merlin closed his eyes and breathed deeply.

 

“Gwen, the Silures, and the druids are in position,” he said.

 

“How do you know?” whispered Arthur, on high alert for another indication of the Belgae’s approach.

 

“People with magic can communicate with each other through here,” replied Merlin, tapping the side of his skull. “That’s how we coordinate our attacks.” Arthur nodded thoughtfully, raising his eyebrows. However, the sound of drumbeats began to ring through the air, and he hissed, “quiet!”, peeking his head over the rock.

 

Below Merlin and Arthur, the Belgae were marching into the valley. Their hair and beards were wild, and they were clad in animal pelts ranging from foxes to bears. Instead of iron swords, they carried long spears tipped with cruelly glittering points. To Arthur’s surprise, he couldn’t see a single woman among the group. While women warriors weren’t as common as men among the Dragon Tribe, most had at least picked up a sword at one point or another. As he watched, the Belgae streamed through the gorge, until they had nearly reached the end.

 

“Now!” Arthur whispered sharply. Merlin and the druids rose out from where they were crouched behind rocks.

 

“ **_ Stanhol ahreosath!  Gewican ge, stanas! _ ** ” They cried, gesturing to the rocks which they had been hiding behind. With a thunderous crash, boulders came tumbling down around the Belgae, trapping them in the valley with no way forward. Chaos reigned as the Belgae struggled to find a way out. As predicted, they began to flood back out the way they had entered - straight towards the Silures. Einion, Gwen and several more archers began firing arrows at the Belgae, dropping down from trees and sliding out from underneath rocks. Dressed in dark tunics, they had been practically invisible. Druids sent blasts of magic through the air, knocking down any remaining enemies. Arthur and a few other Silures waded through the bodies, stabbing any Belgae that still lived. The ambush was over in a matter of minutes, the Belgae having been unable to use their spears at close range.

 

Arthur breathed out heavily through his nose, wiping blood spatters off his face. He let out a triumphant whoop, which was quickly taken up by the Silures and druids alike. Out of his eye, he saw a flash of movement as a supposedly dead Belgae scrambled to his feet and ran off. Before he could react, Gwen had nocked an arrow and shot after him, but the Belgae ducked behind a tree and kept running. Merlin sent a magic blast in his direction, but the warrior rolled with the force and popped back to his feet. In the blink of an eye, he was off again, rapidly disappearing into the forest.

 

“He’s out of range, Arthur!” cried Gwen. “We can’t catch him!”

 

“Damn it, he’ll warn the rest of the Belgae!” cursed Arthur, kicking the ground. “We have to get to the river before they can plan a counterattack! Have everybody converge on the plains, we might still stand a chance if we can force them into the open.”

 

“I’ll tell the others,” said Merlin, glancing around. Before long, the druids and Silures were flooding across the hills, running out of the forest and towards the flat expanse of floodplains. Arthur sheathed Excalibur and hefted his shield, joining the troops. The run downhill was treacherous but swift, and it was only a matter of minutes before they arrived at the forest’s edge. They were greeted by a blast of the Belgae war horn, answered by a lower pitched call from the other side of the plain.

 

“That’ll be Llywarch and the chariots,” panted Arthur, relieved. “They’ll be here any minute. Merlin, have the druids spread out along the forest edge and start boxing in the Belgae. Have Gwen and the archers cover you. I’ll lead the infantry towards the Camlann plain.”

 

Merlin turned white. “What did you say?”

 

“I said, I’ll lead the-”

 

“No, the name.” Merlin’s eyes were wide with fear. “Tell me the name, Arthur!”

 

“Camlann, because the Crooked River used to run through here.” Arthur’s stomach began to knot unpleasantly. “Why, what’s wrong?”

 

“Arthur,” whispered Merlin, “Crooked River in Kumbraec is  _ Camavon _ .” 

 

Arthur’s mind went completely blank. “Change of plans,” he croaked, fear sucking the moisture out of his mouth. “Merlin, stay with me. Whatever you do, don’t-” Merlin stopped his words with a quick kiss.

 

“Goodbye, Arthur,” he said, tears in his eyes. “ _ E ti caraf _ .” He turned and ran before Arthur could react.

 

“Merlin, NO!” Arthur cried, reaching out to stop him, but Merlin whipped out a hand, and a wall of fire leapt up between them. “Come back,” Arthur whispered at the retreating figure, its outline wavering behind the flames. 

 

“Arthur,” Gwen said, drawing her sword. “We have to fight.” But Arthur stood still with shock, hand still outstretched towards the flames. 

 

“ _ Arthur! _ ” she cried again, shaking him by the shoulder. “He won’t stand a chance if we don’t attack now! We have to protect our loved ones,” she said firmly, eyes hard with resolve.

 

“I can’t let him die alone,” said Arthur, voice hoarse. He turned to Gwen, tears threatening to fall from his eyes. “I can’t.”

 

“Then don’t let him die at all!” Gwen practically shouted at him. “Pull yourself together! Your army needs you! Your  people need you!  _ Merlin _ needs you!”

 

Reality snapped back into focus around Arthur. Shaking his head to clear it, he drew Excalibur angrily. “We’ll regroup with Peredur, Llew, and the others,” he said, beginning to jog towards the advancing Camelot warriors. “The Lugi will know to cut across and box in the Belgae, but we have to go, now.”

 

“That’s the spirit,” Gwen smiled, but her eyes held no mirth.  Together, they ran to where Peredur, a few druids, and Llywarch had gathered.

 

“Sire,” said Peredur, “The Belgae have formed a defensive wall. They knew we were coming. The chariots won’t be able to get through. If we don’t break that wall, we’ve as good as lost.”

 

“I might be able to help,” came a soft voice. Arthur turned to see Ffraid standing shyly behind him, Gwilim at her side. “You may want to stand back though.”

 

“Whatever you can do, Ffraid, we’ll need it,” said Arthur. “Do your worst.”

 

Ffraid grinned, revealing small, sharp teeth. She dropped to all fours, fingers gouging trenches in the dirt as her back arched. Her limbs elongated and grew fur, and huge wings erupted from her back. With a roar, the girl was gone, in her place a cat-like creature, the likes of which Arthur had never seen. It bounded towards the shield wall, sending the Belgae flying. Gwilim pulled out his bow and began to shoot down the archers who aimed at Ffraid. Peredur whistled, impressed.

 

“Llywarch, take command of the chariots,” Arthur ordered. “Place an archer on each and try to pick off as many enemies as you can. Gwen, go with him.” Gwen nodded gratefully, turning to run alongside Llywarch as they sprinted towards his small chariot. “Peredur, Llew, Einion, with me.” Arthur inclined his head. “It’s been a privilege fighting alongside you all.” Raising his sword, he turned to the assembled warriors. “For the love of Camelot!” He cried, turning around and charging. His army followed in a stream of red and gold, echoing his cry.

 

With a crash, the Dragons and the Belgae met in the middle of the field, metal hitting metal with a bright ring. Arthur hacked his way through the Belgae, Excalibur cleaving through spears and flesh alike. All around him, men and women shouted and fought, the throng of bodies crushing Arthur and buffeting him around. He shielded his face as a blast of fire erupted to his left, sending Belgae flying. The druids had renewed their press against the enemy’s flank, and were beginning to make headway. Balinor and the rest of the Lugi had come down the hill like a blue wave, and were forcing the Belgae into the path of the druids. Ffraid pounced through the enemies, Gwilim riding on her back and loosing arrows faster than Arthur could see. 

 

Finding himself back-to-back with Llew, Arthur and his loyal friend spun in circles, lopping the spearheads off Belgae faster than they could react. Grinning ferociously, together they forced their way to the edge of the battle, where they could assess the situation. The curly-haired warrior pointed at the edge of the battlefield.

 

“Sire, look!” Arthur followed his finger, eyes widening. The Belgae were pressed against the river, corralled from three sides.

 

“It’s working!” Whooped Arthur, hardly able to believe his luck. “It’s working!” Shaking with adrenaline and exhilaration, he cheered the warriors on, racing into the fray once more.Through the chaos, Arthur spotted a slender female figure with a mane of jet-black hair, observing the battle from the hillside.

 

“ MORGANA! ” He cried, struggling towards her. However, two fearsome Belgae blocked his way, baring teeth filed into sharpened points. Arthur brought up his sword, prepared to fight. However, just as the two warriors were about to bring down their ugly swords, they fell to the ground, one with an arrow in his back, and the other clutching his hamstrings. Llywarch and Gwen swept past in their chariot, leading the cavalry across the edge of the battle. As they rode, a Belgae threw his spear, wounding their horse and sending them to the ground. Llywarch rolled to his feet, but Gwen wavered unsteadily, bleeding from a gash on her forehead. She tried to nock her bow, but she had too much blood in her eyes, and could no longer aim properly.

 

“Come on, Gwen!” Llywarch cried over the noise of the battle. “We have to get you out of here!”

 

“I’m not leaving you!” Gwen shouted. She slung her bow over her back, drawing her sword. However, her eyes were unfocused, and she was still unsteady on her feet. Llywarch grabbed her by the hand and began running, carving his way through the Belgae. Gwen stumbled behind him, and he turned to protect her when a spear thrust through his chest. Llywarch looked down at the spear emerging from his sternum, his brow furrowed slightly, and collapsed to the ground.

 

“ NOOOOOO! ” Wailed Gwen, her voice shrill. “No, no, no no NO!” She began slashing blindly at the Belgae, standing over Llywarch’s body. Arthur ducked out of the way of Gwen’s blade, grabbing her arms.

 

“Let go of me! We have to save him!” Gwen shrieked, struggling in Arthur’s grasp. 

 

“He’s gone, Gwen! There’s nothing you can do!” Arthur yelled in her ear. Suddenly, Gwen went limp in Arthur’s arms, and he released her. 

 

“Yes there is,” Gwen said grimly. She ripped a strip off her tunic and tied it around her head as an impromptu bandage. “I can fight.” With a cry, she slashed her sword across a Belgae’s throat, send a glistening arc of blood into the air. Tears still streaking her face, she resumed her spot by Llywarch’s corpse, shielding him from swords and spears alike. 

 

As the battle continue to rage, Arthur slashed and hacked, but for every Belgae he cut down, another stepped up to take his place. There were simply too many of them, even for his combined forces. In slow motion, he saw Gwilim topple from Ffraid’s back, an arrow lodged in his chest. Without her protector, the big cat hissed and clawed, but the Belgae spears were too numerous for her, and with a last snarl, she fell to the ground, fur retreating and transforming back into a young woman. Not far away, Balinor was engaged in combat with three Belgae at once, his back pressed against a rock wall. Blood spattered the grey stone as his throat was slashed, leaving behind a ghastly silhouette of the Lugi chieftain as he fell. Arthur choked back a sob at the sight of the lifeless man. He hadn’t even had time to thank the Lugi for releasing him. All around him, Dragons and Lugi were falling, but despite their losses, the Belgae continued to be pressed back.

 

And at the center of it all was Merlin, eyes in a continuous blaze of gold as he conquered his foes, setting their furs on fire or turning their weapons into dust. Arthur couldn’t help but feel a surge of pride at his lover’s capabilities as he sent a particularly fearsome Belgae flying with a dismissive look, but then, Arthur’s attention was distracted by a figure in the distance. It was Morgana once more, standing at the edge of the battle and wielding a bow. He began to fight his way towards her once more, when his way was blocked. The man standing before Arthur was the same one who had appeared in his vision.

 

“Cenred,” Arthur growled, hefting his sword. The Belgae king grinned ferally at him, swinging a spear with a savage hook at the end.

 

“ ** To aman esi insin ** ,” Cenred rumbled, circling Arthur in the small clearing that was rapidly forming around them.

 

“I’m sure that was something rude,” Arthur said flippantly, trying to hide his terror. “I’ll have to kill you for that.”

 

With a roar, Cenred charged at Arthur, who brought up his shield just in time to block his blow. Arthur staggered under the force, grunting as he dug his feet into the ground. His sword hand throbbed in pain, and he nearly dropped Excalibur. Arthur looked down to see a patch of red blossoming across the back of his hand, and cursed. His wound had re-opened. Dodging Cenred’s jabs, Arthur threw his shield in Cenred’s face, gripping Excalibur in both hands to steady his hold. He parried thrust after thrust, but one slipped through his guard, and the spear shot towards Arthur’s head. However, it bounced away, as if it had hit an invisible shield. Arthur felt his torc glow warm around his neck, and said a silent thanks to Merlin. Taking advantage of Cenred’s confusion, he turned and elbowed Cenred in the nose, feeling the crunch of bone.

 

“That’s for Gawain,” he snarled, whirling back. Cenred roared in pain, swinging his spear wildly. Arthur spun out of the way, an arrow whistling past his ear. He slashed Excalibur down, opening a gash on Cenred’s arm. 

 

“And  _ that’s _ for Llywarch,” he shouted, relishing the spray of blood, warm across his face. Cenred pulled out a dagger, wounded arm dangling by his side, but Arthur was too quick. As the Belgae king charged, he remembered the move that Gawain had taught him what seemed like an age ago. Raising his shield, Arthur lashed out his foot, tripping the Belgae and sending him to the ground. Cenred looked up at him defiantly, but froze as Arthur pointed Excalibur at his chest.

 

“And  _ this _ ,” Arthur said, stabbing Cenred in the gut, “is for trying to kill Merlin.” Cenred gasped as the sword entered his stomach, hand creeping to the side. Arthur turned away triumphantly, scanning the battle for any sign of Merlin. However, Cenred, with his dying breath, grabbed the head of his spear and lashed out, catching Arthur’s exposed calf and ripping it back. Arthur fell to the ground with a shout of pain, clutching his leg, but quickly struggled to his feet once more. Above the battlefield, he saw Morgana once more, drawing back her bow. Following the line of sight, he saw Merlin’s distinctive black hair, whipping in the wind of a magic blast. Arthur’s heart leapt into his mouth, and time seemed to slow down. Merlin was unaware of Morgana’s presence, and from the triumphant smirk on Morgana’s face, she knew it. 

 

“ MERLIN! ” he shouted desperately, voice cutting through the din. Reflexively, Morgana turned and released her arrow, hitting Arthur in the bicep. He screamed in pain as the arrow tore through muscle, penetrating his ringmail and burrowing itself in his arm. It felt like fire running through his veins, the agony more than he could bear. Arthur collapsed to the ground, still clutching Excalibur in his left hand. His vision grew fuzzy and black at the edges, and his ears began to ring. He reached out with Excalibur, but he could not hold the weight, and the sword clattered to the ground.

 

Merlin, having heard Arthur’s cry, turned just in time to see Arthur fall to the ground. Morgana laughed triumphantly, her quarry forgotten.

 

“The Lugi are avenged!” She cried, eyes crazed. “The tyranny of Uther ends here!” 

 

At the sight of an unmoving Arthur, Merlin let out an inhuman cry that echoed across the field. A shockwave emanated from his body, knocking the Belgae to the ground. Morgana was thrown against a tree by the force, a sharp crack resulting from the impact. She slumped motionless to the ground, her head at an odd angle. Heedless of the destruction he had just wrought, Merlin ran over to Arthur’s prone body, falling to his knees. As tears ran down Merlin’s face, the light of the sun began to dim. A black disc slipped across its face, resulting in cries of terror across the battlefield. As the last light vanished, the Belgae, leaderless and terrified, ran back towards the cover of the forest, flinging down their weapons. Unbidden, Kilgharrah’s words came back to Merlin:  _ when day is night and friend is foe, then Emrys will die at Camavon _ . Morgana, once a friend of the Lugi, had led an army against them. His magic had blocked out the sun. Yet somehow, he was still alive. Merlin gasped in realization.

 

“There’s more than one kind of death,” he whispered in anguish to Arthur’s unconscious form. “If you die, I would too.” He cradled Arthur’s head in his lap, not hearing the cheers of victory that rang out around him.

 

“Please don’t die, Arthur,” Merlin sobbed despondently, tears running down his face and dripping onto Arthur’s. “You promised.” Yet Arthur’s face remained white and still.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> E ti caraf - I love you  
> To aman esi insin - Your time has come (Gaulish)


	8. In Which There is a Happy Ending

Gaius was wandering through the battlefield, administering aid to the fallen, when he came across Merlin cradling Arthur’s head. The young druid looked up at him, tears streaking down his face.

 

“He won’t wake up,” Merlin sobbed. “I don’t know what to do.”

 

“Pull yourself together, Merlin!” ordered Gaius, kneeling down to examine Arthur. “He’s still alive.” Bracing a hand on Arthur’s shoulder, he grasped the arrow and yanked it out. To Merlin’s surprise, Arthur gasped in pain, his eyes flying open.

 

“Merlin,” he wheezed, attempting to lift his arm. “You’re...alive?”

 

“Yes,” Merlin replied, a smile breaking across his face. “And so are you.” 

 

“Doesn’t feel like it,” Arthur observed, frowning. He tried to sit up, but fell back, groaning. Beads of sweat stood out on his forehead, and he was deathly pale.

 

“The arrow’s been poisoned,” Gaius announced solemnly. “It’s beyond my skill to heal.” He turned to Merlin, who had gone even paler than Arthur.

 

“You must take Arthur to Lake Avalon. The magic there is strong; it should help you flush the poison from Arthur’s body, but you must hurry.”

 

“Is anyone still-” Merlin gulped, “a-alive to help?” 

 

“Llew’s injured, but he’ll survive. Peredur only received minor wounds, he can come along with you. I’ll go fetch him.” Gaius stood up and hurried away, leaving Merlin to care for Arthur’s wounds. Bright red blood was flowing from the hole the arrowhead made, pulsing out with each heartbeat. Merlin ripped a strip from Arthur’s tunic and wound it around his arm, wincing at how quickly the blood began to seep through.

 

“The poison is stopping your blood from clotting,” he said quietly. “We’ll need to be careful, or you’ll bleed to death.” Arthur opened his mouth to speak, but Merlin hushed him. “Save your strength, Arthur. You’ll need it.” Arthur’s eyelids fluttered, and he slipped back into unconsciousness once more. Merlin pressed his hands over the wound, crimson blood welling through his fingers. It was only a minute before Peredur arrived, leading two horses. He was bruised and had many bandages, but he appeared healthy enough. His face darkened when he saw Arthur lying on the ground.

 

“Get him onto the horse, carefully,” instructed Merlin. “Mind his arm.” Peredur nodded silently, gathering Arthur in his arms. Arthur looked almost like a child in the giant Peredur’s embrace, his expression drawn in agony. Merlin wrapped Arthur in a cloak, mounting the horse behind him. Peredur saddled his mount as well, and digging in his heels, the trio set off.

 

Merlin and Peredur rode hard, stopping only when it was too dark to see the way any more. They gently lowered Arthur off his horse and onto the ground, making a small campfire next to him. Despite the heat, Arthur’s teeth were chattering, and he was shivering violently. Merlin felt his forehead.

 

“He’s burning up!” He exclaimed, rummaging in Gaius’s bag for herbs, cursing when he found it nearly empty. 

 

“Go get some birch bark,” he instructed Peredur. “We’ll boil it and make a drink out of it for him.”

 

“But it’s night, I can’t see!” fretted Peredur. “I could kill him if I get the wrong bark!” Merlin clenched his fist, then whispered a few words. When he opened it, a ball of light floated away from his palm and towards Peredur’s head. It bobbed there silently, following the warrior’s motions. 

 

“This should be enough to see by,” said Merlin. “Now go!” Peredur ran off into the night, the glowing orb bouncing next to him.

 

“Hang on, Arthur,” whispered Merlin, changing Arthur’s bandages. In the light of the campfire, they were black and slick with blood. The skin around the wound was red and inflamed, showing signs of infection. With a curse, Merlin stuffed a few leaves from Gaius’s bag into his mouth, chewing them into a paste. He spat them out onto his hand, plugging the hole with the chewed herbs. While he rewound the bandages, Peredur returned, a fistful of bark in his hand. He poured his waterskin into a cup and added the bark, hanging it over the fire. 

 

“Don’t bother,” said Merlin. With a wave of his hand, the water began to boil, causing Peredur to nearly drop the cup in shock. However, he held on, and within a few minutes, the tea had steeped. Merlin held the cup to Arthur’s lips, tipping his head up slightly.

 

“Drink,” he urged, tilting the cup. “It’ll take care of your fever.” Arthur spluttered as the liquid entered his mouth, coughing as it dribbled down his chin.

 

“Tastes...foul,” he managed, earning a ghost of a smile from Merlin. 

 

“Yes,” he replied, “but you need to drink it.” Despite both Arthur and Merlin’s efforts, he was unable to swallow more than half a mouthful. As he reached for the cup again, Merlin’s hand was stopped by Peredur’s.

 

“Let me,” he said softly. Pinching Arthur’s nose, Peredur lifted Arthur’s head back and poured some tea into his mouth. He stroked Arthur’s neck, forcing Arthur to swallow reflexively. Arthur coughed and gagged, but he managed to hold down the tea.

 

“I do that with my children when they’re ill,” Peredur said, handing the cup back to Merlin. “Gaius’s potions taste even worse than they smell, apparently.”

 

“I’ve noticed,” Merlin said dryly. He pushed Arthur’s hair to the side, stroking his forehead absentmindedly. Wrapping Arthur snugly in a cloak, Merlin sat down nearby.

 

“We’ll see if Arthur can sweat the fever out,” he said. “I’ll keep watch for a few hours so I can change his bandages. Get some sleep, Peredur, we’re moving as soon as it gets light.” Peredur nodded, curling up next to the fire. His large frame cast shadows behind the fire, sending them flickering across Arthur’s face. He stirred slightly, opening his eyes.

 

“Merlin?” He whispered. “ ‘M...cold.”

 

“Don’t worry, Arthur,” Merlin soothed, scooting over to him. “You’ll warm up soon enough.” He wrapped his arm around Arthur, pulling him close. Arthur fell into a fitful slumber once more, Merlin remaining motionless next to him. They stayed that way for hours, Merlin only moving to feed Arthur more tea when he awoke for a moment, and to change his bandages. Arthur was resting slightly easier, but his forehead was still clammy, and his wound inflamed. Merlin was beginning to nod off when he felt a heavy hand on his shoulder.

 

“I’ll look after him for a few hours,” Peredur said. “You must be exhausted.” Merlin nodded in agreement, eyes drooping. He lay down next to Arthur, Peredur seated on Arthur’s other side. The giant warrior looked out into the forest as the two younger men slept, keeping watch for the night. It was with regret that he woke Merlin at first light, gently shaking him awake.

 

“Wake up, Merlin,” Peredur said. “Help me get Arthur on the horse.” Merlin turned to Arthur, placing a hand on his forehead.

 

“He’s ice-cold!” Gasped Merlin. “He’s gone into shock!” He unwrapped Arthur’s cloak, stifling a sob at the red patch that covered Arthur’s arm. Merlin ripped off a strip of his trousers and picked up a stick, placing it next to Arthur. He wrapped the bandage above the arrow wound, then used the stick to twist it tight. 

 

“This will stop the bleeding permanently,” Merlin explained, hopping up onto his horse. “It’s risky, but he’s too sick for us to do anything else.” He guided Arthur onto the horse, covering him in his cloak. Peredur mounted his horse quickly, and the two rode off again. It was two hours before they reached the edge of the forest, pausing at the top of the hill. Below them spread a serene lake, shrouded with mist.

 

“Avalon,” Merlin breathed. “Come on, we need to hurry.” Together, he and Peredur carried Arthur down to the lake, pausing only when Arthur cried out in agony. 

 

“Just a few more minutes,” he begged. “Hang on, Arthur.” Peredur laid him at the edge of the lake, the water lapping at his boots.

 

“I can’t feel my arm,” Arthur whimpered, eyes screwed shut with pain. Merlin drew up his sleeve, cursing. Arthur’s hand had turned blue and swollen, and his fingertips were black with dying tissue.

 

“I was afraid this would happen,” Merlin said angrily. “I didn’t want to have to do this.”

 

“Do what?” Asked Peredur, brow furrowing.

 

“We have to cut off his arm,” came the grim response. Arthur began to twist in their grasp.

 

“No,” he protested with surprising strength. “I need it...I can’t fight otherwise…”

 

“You can’t fight if you’re dead,” snapped Merlin, tears welling in his eyes. “Peredur, hold him down.” The warrior leaned across Arthur’s torso, pinning him to the ground. Merlin pulled out his dagger.

 

“I’m so sorry,  _ mu carat _ _,_ ” he whispered, before plunging the knife into Arthur’s arm.

 

Arthur let out a wrenching shriek as Merlin dragged his dagger in a crude U-shape. Every nerve of his arm was on fire, despite the numbness the shock had given him. He thrashed on the ground, struggling to pull himself free. Merlin knelt on Arthur’s arm to keep it from moving, but he and Peredur needed all of their strength to hold on. Mirroring the cut on the other side of Arthur’s arm, Merlin pulled back the two skin flaps, exposing the stark white bone. Arthur moaned, his eyelids fluttering as he began to lose consciousness. Merlin began to saw through the bone, but Peredur reached across, and with a grunt, snapped it clean in half. By now, Arthur was fully unconscious. Merlin pulled the skin back over the broken bone, pressing it together with one hand.

 

“ _ Ahatian _ ,” he spoke, and the dagger in his hand began to glow red with heat. He pressed it over Arthur’s stump, wincing at the sound of sizzling flesh. With a jolt, Arthur regained consciousness, crying out in agony as his wound was cauterized.

 

“Take him into the lake, now!” Commanded Merlin, lifting Arthur’s shoulders. Peredur grabbed his feet, dragging him out into the lake. Merlin sat in the water, holding Arthur’s head above the surface. 

 

“ _ Ic the thurhhæle, thin licsare mid tham sundorcræftas thære ealdath æ! _ ” He cried, stretching a hand towards the opposite shore. A ripple emanated from the center of the lake, moving faster than any Peredur had ever seen. When it reached Arthur, it encased him in water, dragging him down to the lakebed. 

 

“NO!” Merlin shouted, diving underwater. A second later, he was forcibly ejected from the lake, landing with a thump on the shore. He watched with bated breath, eyes still red from crying. However, the lake’s surface remained still and unbroken, the mist beginning to retreat in the sunlight. 

 

“Give him back!” Merlin screamed, pounding the shoreline angrily. “Give. Him. BACK!” Peredur lowered his head in sorrow, dropping to one knee.

 

“I thought it would work,” sobbed Merlin despondently, turning to Peredur. “I was sure of it. I’ve as good as killed him.”

 

“It was probably Arthur’s time anyway,” Peredur replied. “He died an honorable death, defending Camelot. It’s what he would’ve wanted.”

 

“But it’s not what  I  wanted,” Merlin whimpered. “I was the one that was supposed to die, not him. This is all my-”

 

But before he could finish his tirade, a splash came from the middle of the lake. Arthur emerged from the depths with a gasp, hair plastered across his face. He flailed about in the water, feet unable to touch the bottom. Without a second thought, Merlin dove back into the lake, pulling Arthur to shore. They collapsed next to each other, lying on their backs.

 

“Don’t ever scare me like that again, you prat,” wheezed Merlin, but tears of joy were forming in his eyes. 

 

“Speak for yourself, clotpole,” replied Arthur, attempting to move his right arm. His brow furrowed in confusion when his hand did not appear. He looked down at the stump protruding from his shoulder, and promptly passed out once more. Merlin placed a hand on his neck, finding his pulse strong and steady. He let his head hit the ground, closing his eyes in relief. 

 

“You did it,” whispered Peredur in awe. “You saved Arthur.”

 

"Yes," replied Merlin, a smile flitting across his face. "I did."

 

-M-

 

Arthur, Merlin, and Peredur rode slowly back to Camelot, taking their time as Arthur was still in shock. With Merlin seated behind him, Arthur numbly clasped the stump where his arm had been, unable to grasp the horse’s reins.

 

“My arm’s gone,” he muttered, leaning his head on Merlin’s shoulder.

 

“Yes,” said Merlin softly, pain evident in his voice. “If there had been any other way-”

 

“You should’ve just let me die,” Arthur said harshly, moving to gesture with his right arm. However, as it was no longer there, he found himself wiggling his stump ineffectively. The movement forced him to stare down at where his right hand would’ve been. 

 

“I can feel my hand,” he choked out. “It feels like it’s still here. What am I going to do if I can’t fight?”

 

“You don’t have to fight any more,” murmured Merlin, stroking his shoulder soothingly. “The war is over now. You have loyal men who will be there to protect you.”

 

“I don’t  want to be protected,” said Arthur emphatically, twisting around to look at Merlin. “All my life I’ve been fighting. It’s who I was, how I defined myself. I can’t even hold a sword left-handed. How am I supposed to lead when I’ve lost my greatest strength?” Tears were threatening to form in his eyes as he gazed at Merlin.

 

“Your combat was never your greatest strength,” replied the druid, leaning his head against Arthur’s neck. “It was here.” He tapped Arthur’s breastbone, just over his heart. “You’re one of the most courageous and honorable men I’ve ever met, and it carries over into everything you do. Your people and friends alike look to you for leadership, and with good cause. Arthur,” he said, face open and earnest, “It’s your destiny to become a great leader, nothing can ever change that. But the time for battle is over, and now you need to fight a different kind of war. The other tribes will listen to you, but you need to show your strength  off the battlefield.”

 

“You’re right, Merlin,” whispered Arthur, hanging his head. “I can’t fight any more, so I’ll need to find another way to serve my tribe.”

 

“Don’t worry, Arthur,” soothed Merlin. “We’ll figure it out. We always do.”

 

The trio continued in silence, threading their way through the woods until darkness fell.  After resting for the night, they continued to ride, arriving at Camelot when the sun was high in the air. The Dragon people emerged from their huts to see the procession, a cheer going up at the sight of their chieftain, but quickly hushing when they saw his haggard face and missing arm. Gaius strode out to meet the trio, embracing Merlin and Arthur. 

 

“I knew you could save him,” he whispered, hugging Merlin tightly.

 

“Morgana?”Asked Arthur, pulling back from Gaius.

 

“She was killed when Merlin’s power erupted,” the healer replied solemnly. “Her neck was snapped. It would’ve been quick, and relatively painless.”

 

To his surprise, Arthur still felt sorrow at his sister’s passing. Ultimately, they had strove for the same goal, but she had been so twisted by grief and rage that she could no longer tell right from wrong. Despite her descent into madness, Arthur would miss her mischevious smile, the affectionate teasing, and occasional pranks they had pulled together. He cleared his throat, nodding.

 

“How’s Llew?” He asked, changing the topic.

 

“See for yourself,” Gaius replied with a grin. Ducking into Gaius’s hut, Arthur spied Llew lying on a bed, bandages wrapped around his head and torso. His face, although pale, brightened when he saw Arthur.

 

“It’s good to see you, sire,” he said, attempting to sit up but wincing with pain. Arthur gently pushed him back.

 

“It’s good to see you too, Llew,” he replied. He watched Llew’s eyes stray to his stump, then guiltily flick away. 

 

“Your arm,” he muttered. “I’m sorry.”

 

“It’s alright, Llew,” Arthur replied, kneeling beside him. “I don’t need to fight any more, not while I still have you at my side.”

 

“I’m afraid it might be a while before I can fight again,” joked Llew, wincing. “Gaius says I’m to rest for at least a fortnight.”

 

“There’s no rush,” said Arthur, smiling slightly. He exited the hut, looking for Merlin. The druid was kneeling on the ground, embracing his mother and sobbing. He turned to look at Arthur, tears coursing down his face.

 

“They’re all dead,” he choked out. “Ffraid, Gwilim, my father - they all died. I never even stopped to look for them!” He hung his head in sorrow, tears splattering on the dirt. Arthur knelt next to him, pulling him into a hug.

 

“There’s nothing you could’ve done,” he soothed. “They died honorably, on their own terms. It’s what they wanted.”

 

“But I wanted them to live,” hiccuped Merlin, burying his face in Arthur’s tunic. “I miss them already.”

 

“We all lost somebody,” murmured Arthur, stroking Merlin’s hair. “Everybody will mourn tonight. And then we’ll have a big feast to remember them, and send them off in glory. Does that sound fair?”

 

“Not really,” Merlin sniffled, his voice still muffled, but he wiped the tears away from his eyes. “We’ll need to hold a funeral for them all, and then an election.”

 

“Merlin, what if we don’t?” said Arthur, an idea springing to mind. “What if the Lugi join with the Dragons, and the Silures? It’ll be the start of a whole new nation. We can triple the council, everyone will have a say, and-”

 

“Not now, Arthur,” begged Merlin, voice still raw from his crying. “My father hasn’t even been buried yet.”

 

“You’re right,” replied Arthur, helping Merlin to his feet. “It can wait. There’s one more thing I need to do though. Come with me.”

 

He led Merlin by the hand, walking past the fortress and out of the gathering of huts. They walked in silence until they reached the burial mounds. Arthur and Merlin stopped at Uther’s grave, the soil still freshly turned. With difficulty, Arthur pulled Excalibur from his belt, turning it so the point was facing the earth.

 

“I’m not - My arm-” Arthur struggled to articulate his newfound disability, holding Excalibur towards Merlin. “Will you help me?” 

 

Merlin placed his hand over Arthur’s, so the two of them were standing over the small mound. Together, they hoisted Excalibur into the air, plunging it into the sod until it was halfway buried. Arthur stepped back, surveying his and Merlin’s work.

 

“Thank you, Father,” he said haltingly. “For everything you’ve shown me, whether you knew it or not. Go with peace into the afterlife.” A breeze gusted across the mounds, toying with Arthur’s hair and swirling around the embedded blade.  Thank you , it whispered in his ear. Arthur smiled slightly, sitting in front of his father’s grave.

 

“Sit with me,” he said to Merlin, patting the grass next to him. After only a moment’s hesitation, the young druid joined him, leaning his head on the Arthur’s shoulder. They shared the silence together, hands entwined, until the sun began to set, glinting off Excalibur’s hilt.

 

“It’s a good idea,” said Merlin finally.

 

“What?” asked Arthur, startled out of his reverie.

 

“Uniting the tribes. It’s a good idea.”

 

“Ah,” said Arthur, eloquent as ever.

 

“Gwen will agree,” mused Merlin idly. “She’s sure to see the merits.”

 

“What are we going to call it?” asked Arthur. “What did Kilgharrah say, Golden age of-”

 

“Albion,” said Merlin, grinning. “It’s going to be called Albion.”

 

“Sounds good,” replied Arthur, nodding. “I thought you were supposed to be dead by now, though.” He nudged Merlin jokingly.

 

“Actually, I was thinking about that,” Merlin said, more seriously. “Kilgharrah never said that  _ I _ was going to die, he said  _ Emrys _ was going to die. Our bitterest enemy has been vanquished, and we’re about to unite with another strong tribe. There’s no need for the Lugi to be protected any more, so Emrys doesn’t need to exist any more. He’s as good as dead.”

 

“And the prophecy is fulfilled,” said Arthur, in wonder. “So we did it, then.”

 

“We did it,” agreed Merlin. “You know, you’re going to be an amazing chieftain.”

 

Arthur kissed him lightly, wrapping his single arm around Merlin as tightly as he could. “It’s all thanks to you, Merlin,” he whispered. “You saved me in more ways than you can imagine.”

 

“Don’t get all sentimental on me, you prat,” replied Merlin, but emotion was thick in his voice. “I couldn’t have done it without you either.” Arthur got to his feet, rubbing his stump idly. 

 

“Come on, you clotpole,” he said affectionately. “We’ve got some tribes to unite. What do you call it when multiple tribes unite, anyway? Not an alliance, but a...um…”

 

“A kingdom?” Supplied Merlin helpfully.

 

“The kingdom of Albion,” mused Arthur, turning to face Camelot. “ruled by King Arthur. I like the sound of that.” He grinned, offering his remaining hand to Merlin.

 

“Well, your Highness,” said Merlin, bowing exaggeratedly before taking his hand. “Your kingdom awaits.” Laughing, they began walking towards Camelot, the sunset casting long shadows across Uther’s burial mound. Excalibur glinted one final time before the sun slipped below the horizon, illuminating the landscape before it. Night fell, and the stars emerged overhead. For the first time in eighteen years, Camelot was at peace. All was well.

 

_ The End _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, that's it, everybody. Thanks again for reading! If you enjoyed the historical setting, I highly recommend you check out Sulla's [The Eagle and the Raven](http://archiveofourown.org/works/1449844), which uses the other theory that Arthur was a Roman soldier in Britain. There's also the movie King Arthur, which deals with a similar subject (despite being woefully historically accurate).


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